


Soul-Walker

by twistedthicket1



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Aborted Genocide Run, Agender Frisk, Alternate Timelines, Angst, Fluff, Magic, Multi, Nightmares, Nonbinary Frisk, PTSD, Post-Pacifist Route, Prophecy, Selectively Mute Frisk, Some OC's but for story telling purposes, Time Travel, Violence, an AU with mostly canon elements? does that make sense?, the six souls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-06-04 06:26:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6644989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedthicket1/pseuds/twistedthicket1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All in the Underground know of the legend of the angel, the being said to come and save them all. The prophecy came true with Frisk, but seldom is the second half of the story spoken of. </p><p>Six Human souls, trapped deep in the Earth. A seventh, the catalyst to them all. The souls awakened with the breaking of the barrier, but now wander with no master. Yet they are drawn to a beacon, a person who once housed another’s soul. </p><p>A Human whose Magic was as rare as it was precious: the power to hear their cries. That kind of power, it is said that even an angel could fall trying to bear it. Maybe there was a reason, that only Monsters still knew of Magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sleepwalker

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so remember when I was like "I might write more Undertale things"? Welp, here we are. All aboard the magical quest train mingled with angst. choo-choo. 
> 
> In all seriousness though, This is likely going to be a summer project of mine. I got interested in this idea and now, well, it's stuck with me. 
> 
> ^_^ I hope you enjoy the read and the adventure, here we go~

 

_You sat in the garden of golden flowers, blinking slowly up at the yawning maw above them. Far above them, the top of the mountain shone with sunlight, the rays just barely brushing their face with warmth._

_How did you get here?_

_It had seemed like only a moment ago, you had been sharing tea and cake with your mom, and a jovial skeleton telling jokes across from the table._

_A pang of unease swept through you over being in the underground once more. Usually, to wake up in this thatch of flowers could have only meant a RESET. Yet you didn’t remember if you had, and that in itself was unusual._

 

_Your brain felt fuzzy, as if it had been wrapped up in soft swathes of cotton. You couldn’t bring yourself to be truly distressed, more vaguely confused. Where was Toriel, your mom? Where was Sans? If you had RESET, why couldn’t you remember? Did this mean you would have to travel through the Underground all over again? You certainly hoped not, you had barely managed last time._

 

_You stood warily, wiping grit from your knees even as you peered into the darkness. Staying here would do nothing, and you felt Determination well within. If you didn’t know what was going on, then you’d have to find someone who did. Tentatively, you called out, not really expecting anyone to answer._

_“Hello?”_

 

_A breeze seemed to push itself from the top of the mountain overhead, running through your hair. You stiffened at the sound of a sigh, seemingly breathed out against the shell of their ear. A melodious voice, neither male nor female spoke._

**_“You haven’t forgotten your  p r o m i  s e,  have you?”_ **

 

_You whirled about, feeling a coil of dread shoot like ice through your veins._

  


The dream was a recurring nightmare, really. One that Frisk found increasingly disturbing and saddening, as the months went on living on the surface. It left them tangled in the sheets of their bed, cold sweat sticking in the hollow of their spine. An inexplicable fear left a coppery flavour on their lips.

It was not always _that_ voice, that called them. That, at least, could be explained. Chara was a memory that Frisk guess most wouldn’t be able to forget any time soon.

 

They lay upon their bed a moment longer, merely considering their ceiling in silence. Nervous fingers tapped along their sternum, a rhythm that Frisk was unconscious of. They wondered to themselves if it was the result of guilt, or if their sins could truly crawl along their back. It used to seem like only an expression.

 

****

 

For the most part, Frisk was living as normal a childhood as one could expect of an ambassador of monsters. That was to say, there wasn’t the slightest shred of normalcy and often, they adored it.

 

That wasn’t to say that there weren’t a few bumps along the road after reaching the surface. No one really liked change, even if they craved it. The people of Ebott viewed Monsters as an oddity, their own tales and legends of the creatures vague and fantastical. In many ways, Frisk supposed their family lived up to that. It wasn’t everyday that the mayor of the town was approached by an overly friendly, tall skeleton.

 

The first few months had been a tense game of negotiation, the town hesitant to trust a strange child on their word and the Monsters reluctant to take the word of any other Human other than Frisk. Everyone got very used to polished wooden tables and official-looking documents, and not a day seemed to pass where Frisk wasn’t playing advocate for their friends. They were always half-afraid that they’d say something wrong or act in a way that would make them seem unprofessional, but when their worries became too etched upon their face, someone always came to support them. Sans in particular had a habit of just appearing, when they were stressed.

It was a shoddy system, but it worked. Frisk never felt alone, and despite the fact that they were a little quiet and seemed a little worn, they were well-liked amongst Monster and Humankind.

 

****

 

“Frisk, Toriel says it’s dinner time!” Undyne shouted above the din of a dozen or so other children. She stood at the edge of the park, and Frisk felt a smile break out upon their face upon seeing them. The fish woman had been away to the city for a few weeks now, off teaching martial arts to some excited students that had requested her for her prowess. She was still dressed in her armour, and she was a sight for sore eyes.

 

Frisk had missed her, they kicked off from the swings they had been playing on, running across the sand and pavement, launching themselves towards her. Undyne caught them with ease, swinging them around in a hug that a part of Frisk suspected they would feel in the morning. It didn’t matter, Undyne smelled like metal warmed by the sun and ocean, and it was a comforting scent. Frisk giggled as they were scooped up, their expression bright as they matched the Monster’s snaggle-toothed grin.

 

“Did you win the fights?” Frisk asked seriously, dark eyes warm. Undyne puffed her chest with pride, carrying Frisk up on her shoulders as she made her way out of the park and towards Toriel’s home.

“Of course!” She boasted “No human could ever _really_ match me in a physical fight. Give me some credit.”

“No one got hurt, did they?”

“No one that didn’t want to be.” Undyne responded cheerily. She had a spring in her step, indicating her good mood. Frisk took her word for it, looking around at the wandering people moving past them. Monsters and Humans drifted down the street, many in conversation with one another. To think, that in only a short period of time such things had become a reality.

 

“Alphys is really excited, after dinner she wants to show you _Attack on Titan._ Says it’s filled with violence, so already I’m down.” At the mention of Undyne’s girlfriend, Frisk smiled in delight. They hadn’t seen Alphys in a long time, the shut-in chameleon still a work in progress, socially. Then again, they weren’t exactly talkative, either.

“Everyone’s coming, then?” Frisk pleaded, hoping that Undyne had taken the opportunity to make it a family movie-night. The fish-woman nodded, her red ponytail a shimmering wave that Frisk sometimes liked to tug affectionately.

“I got Papyrus on board, so Sans is down of course. Mettaton’s even in town right now, so your mom’s said she’s fine with it.”

 

Frisk whooped with glee, and in the process nearly dislodged themselves from Undyne’s shoulder. The warrior caught them with a small laugh, setting them back down on the pavement.

“You’re a ball of energy today, kid. I like it.” Frisk grinned, something about the warmth of the sun and the freedom of just walking about making them feel more reckless than usual.

“Feels like something new is coming.” The kid admitted, not quite sure of what exactly that _new_ thing was. It was something to do with the change of the seasons, or perhaps the fact that their family was once again coming together after a long absence.

 

Frisk didn’t often linger upon it, but sometimes they were rather overwhelmed by just how large their family had become in such a small amount of time. There were so many people to go to now, so many things to do and many, _many_ people to stave off the loneliness that had once driven them into the mountains.

 

Determination filled them, and without thinking, Frisk loaded a SAVE. It glowed in their mind, gold as a butter-yellow flower stretching towards the sun.

 

****

Toriel’s home smelled of good food, and the space was crammed to the rafters it felt like with good company. The kitchen table was already occupied as Frisk and Undyne arrived, Sans, Papyrus, Alphys and Asgore all greeting them warmly as they stepped through the door.

Frisk always thought that the table was rather large, but with their friends seated in the chairs it looked by scale to be of normal height and width.

 

They kicked off their scuffed sneakers carefully at the door, next to Papyrus’ boots (Sans never really took off his slippers). Undyne removed the thick, leather-made boots they tended to favor, calling out to her girlfriend as she took a seat at the table.

“Yo! Found the kid hanging out at the park with their friends. Pap, you owe your brother a tenner.”

Papyrus groaned, explaining for Frisk’s benefit when they cocked a brow in question.

“I BET YOU’D BE AT THE NICECREAM VENDOR.”

“In retrospect,” Sans grinned “Papyrus should have known you weren’t just _chilling_ with Bluebell.”

 

A hiss of contempt and utter joy sounded from the table, Papyrus looking pained, Asgore and Alphys reluctantly amused. Frisk chuckled wordlessly, turning to look for their mom after giving everyone a small wave.

They found Toriel down the hall and towards the kitchen, the warm smells that had permeated the house getting stronger the closer they came. Frisk inhaled, tasting gingerbread at the back of their tongue. They approached behind Toriel’s turned back, reaching out to tug on the hem of their habitually-favoured purple robe.

“Greetings, Frisk.” Toriel turned and smiled down, her hands glowing with remnants of Fire Magic, white-purple. On a metal sheet in front of her, gingerbread cookies sat in shapes of Monsters and Humans, cheerful and smiling. “Did you have a good day?”

 

Frisk nodded, eyeing the cookies with a pleading expression that caused their mother giggle. She held a finger to her lips in secrecy, plucking one of the sweets from the stovetop and holding it out for her child to snatch up with greedy fingers.

“They aren’t cool yet, so be careful.” Toriel cautioned, nodding in approval when Frisk blew on the cookie before taking a bite. The spicy-sweet flavour caused a small sound of rapture to leave Frisk’s lips, and Toriel looked on fondly as their child continued their snacking. “Mettaton told me to let you know they’d be by later in the evening, and that they’d do their best to convince Napstablook to leave their home for at least a few hours.”

 

The shy ghost occasionally had to be nudged to socialise. Not that Frisk really minded. A visit from the ghost cousins always proved to be amusing and calming at once. Mettaton loved to play dress-up, and when Frisk was feeling like more quiet endeavours, Blooky could always be counted on for some music and peaceful lying on the floor time.

Frisk licked crumbs from their fingers before offering to help bring the cookies to the kitchen. Toriel ruffled their hair affectionately, sliding the gingerbread Monsters onto a nearby plate.

“Save some for your friends.” She chided halfheartedly, a smile on her features. Frisk took the plate from her hands.

 

****

 _Attack On Titan_ as it turned out was rather gorey, but strangely fascinating. Curled up between Sans and Papyrus on the sofa, Frisk gripped a decorative cushion to their chest as they watched. The blue light of the television bathed everything in Toriel’s living room with strange whited out pastels, glinting off of Mettaton’s metal body, Alphys’ glasses and the skeleton brother’s bones.

 

“Are all Human TV shows normally so… violent? It doesn’t make me think that the future meetings will go well, if this is their basis for Monsters.” Toriel sat in her spacious chair, watching the screen with a mixture of interest and frank disgust. There was a lot of blood, to be fair. Frisk couldn’t help but think that perhaps Toriel had a point in a way. Monsters often didn’t get a good name, even if that was improving slowly in Ebott.

 

“The artists are passionate about depicting realistic battle.” Undyne supplied. Frisk personally thought there wasn’t much realistic about fending off massive Titans, but they didn’t voice this thought aloud. Beside them, Sans nudged the popcorn bowl in their direction.

“Nothing like watching fictional characters beat each other to a bloody pulp to get your fighting spirit going.” He murmured easily, the white pinpricks of his eyes easy and laidback. His words caused Frisk for a moment to think of another timeline, another place.

 

They blinked themselves firmly back into the present, but perhaps not quite in time. In the next moment, Sans’ shoulder was bumping their own, a silent apology. It was hard sometimes, being the only two in a group who really remembered timelines. It made Frisk’s head and heart hurt sometimes, that their skeletal friend even remembered them at all.

Sometimes, that guilt weighed upon them like a black cloak.

 

“THIS CHARACTER’S BRAVERY SHOULD BE COMMENDED,” Papyrus commented valiantly, grabbing some popcorn himself. Frisk wondered not for the first time where the food the skeletons ate _went._ “IT IS CLEAR HE CARES VERY MUCH FOR HIS FRIENDS.”

“The fashion sense of these people though, leaves something to be desired.” Mettaton spoke up from where he was lying on the floor in his more humanoid form. He seemed to be scowling at all of the rough-spun dresses and cloaks. “The least humans could do is add a bit of decorum to the place, no wonder everyone’s so depressed trapped in that city. Also, how is that kid even _alive_ after an attack like that?”

“M-Mettaton.” Alphys interjected, though not unkindly. The robot huffed, making a vague gesture of acceptance with one hand. He had trouble with suspension of belief.

 

It was to the sound of their friends affectionately bickering that Frisk found their eyelids starting to grow heavy with sleep. They began to drift, comforted by the soft pillow held to their chest and the warm flavour of buttered junk food lingering in their mouth.

 

****

**_“Wait for me, my child. Wait for me in the ruins. I won’t abandon you. There is some business I must attend to.”_ **

_You were yourself, and yet… not. There was a sense of being disconnected, a puzzle piece set aside to watch as the rest of was assembled in silence. Everything was washed out, pale and dark and lonely._

 

_You knew you were in the ruins, but somehow everything looked strange and foreign. Cold stone walls and darkness felt like they were choking you, and your hands knotted in the thick woollen coat your mother had gotten for you (except… you never wore a coat? Not unless the weather was very cold). The chill seemed to pervade into your bones, and you shivered where you sat against a stone pillar._

 

_A part of you wanted to cry, but a larger part wondered what time it was. There was no way to tell, no sun to be seen in this strange new world. Though the strange, goat-like woman had been kind, you thought she had been gone for a long time now. She had told you to stay in this room, warned you of the dangers… but you had been waiting it felt like for ages. She hadn’t even given you a way of getting into contact with her (although, what could she had given? Writing meant that the letter had to be delivered, and as far as you knew there was no other way to send messages across a long distance)._

 

_Unthinkingly, your hand drifted towards your pocket, fingers closing over the toy you had stolen from your brother before you had gone exploring. Peter would miss it, you thought, but the plastic knife now seemed like a twisted sort of comfort. So far, nothing had attacked you, though. You had fallen, and the goat woman had found you. She had been kind, and so you had stayed your hand. Then again, there didn’t seem to be any signs of life in this room, and your fear was slowly beginning to beat a tattoo rhythm against your sternum. You whimpered, burying her face against your knees. You wanted to go home, back to your family. Curiosity had driven you here, and now you regretted it deeply._

 

 **_“Help. Please, someone help me!”_ ** _You called out (and a part of Frisk noted that their body was freckled in a way theirs normally wasn’t, and that their hair was long and very dark red, as dark as the ribbon holding it in place, in this dream) hoping for someone to answer._

_No one came, and you did begin to cry then, waiting for Toriel, too afraid to move forward and unable to go back. The tears seemed to fall for a long time, and soon your throat felt raw and your chest tight. You drifted for a while, shivering and half-asleep in your misery._

 

_When you opened your eyes next, you found a pair of eyes watching your consideringly._

_Strangely, they were set into the centre of a yellow flower. It smiled at you, interest on its features._

 

 **_“Well...Looks like the old lady’s become a bit… tied up. What a shame.”_ ** _It didn’t sound like it thought the concept of Toriel being tied up was a terrible thing. In fact, the flower seemed rather gleeful at the prospect (and a part of Frisk shuddered in dread, screaming at the body that was not their own to -_ **_run, please, run away-_ ** _)._

_You swallowed, your voice trembling but your shoulders rounded towards the flower. Your hand kept closed about the handle of the knife._

**_“Who… who are you?”_ **

_The flower smiled._

**_“I’m Flowey! Flowey the flower! Howdy!”_ ** _They spoke cheerfully enough, but some part of you noted the flat look in their eyes. Flowey leaned a petal-made head to the side, looking you over consideringly. There was something vaguely calculating in the creature’s eyes._ **_“You’ve been sitting here for a long time, haven't cha? With no one else around to help you, it’s probably my job to explain how things work around here.”_ **

**_“T-Toriel’s coming for me.”_ ** _You protested, not trusting this flower. You nervously fiddled with the ribbon in your hair, your hands moving away from the knife so that your fingers could run through your tresses. A nervous tick._ **_“She promised me, she said she’d come back.”_ **

 

_The flower hummed, expression doubtful._

**_“And you always trust the words of strange goat-monsters, right off the bat?”_ **

_It did have a point, you supposed. You felt a flicker of indecision begin to churn in your stomach. Still, you wanted to get away from this flower, its sinuous words reminding you of a snake’s. A part of you yet sensed that to just blindly attack it would lead to your own harm. You just had to wait for the right moment to strike. Your hand drifted back towards your pocket, your face deliberately smoothing into serenity. You were filled with Patience._

**_“You… you may be right.”_ **

_Flowey seemed pleased, and he purred in satisfaction even as he inched closer, as if lending out a secret._

**_“Smart, child. You don’t really think everyone can be trusted just because they ask nice, do you? In this world, that mentality can get you killed.”_ **

**_“What do you mean?”_ ** _You asked, watching the flower’s guard lower fraction by fraction. Flowey seemed to like to hear themselves speak. That was a lot like your brother, actually._

 _The flower seemed to puff up in pride._ **_“Not everyone can be trusted in the Underground! Like that stupid goat-mom or the smiling trash bag. They’ll want you to stay weak and useless. They won’t share LOVE with you, and you’ll die the first time something attacks you.”_ **

 

 **_“What’s LOVE? You say it like it’s not… not the emotion.”_ ** _You asked, and the flower’s face for a second flickered into something dark and warped. You blinked, and the expression was gone. Flowey smiled, a perfect picture of innocence._

**_“Should I give some to you? It’s power, and a special kind. It’ll protect you, here.”_ **

_Flowey seemed to be about to summon something from within themselves, and in that moment, your hand tightened on the knife handle. It happened quickly, one moment you were cornered by the flower, the next the knife made an arching cut. The flower yelped, struck down, and you wasted no time. Lunging to your feet, you ran towards the exit of the room, screaming for Toriel._

_You never made it that far._

 

_In the next moment, something tangled itself about your ankle, and you felt your legs jerk out from under you. You hit the ground with a shriek, the knife clattering from your hands, forgotten. Turning, you saw green vines snarled about your foot, dragging you into the darkness. A voice snarled from it, and dark eyes gleamed as Flowey’s voice changed, became demonic in its true intent. Your fingernails bled as you dug them with futility into the earth. The last thing you saw, was a face inside of a flower, bleeding from a shallow cut and warped so that no trace of MERCY could be found within._

**_“Y O U   B R A T. YOU SHOULD JUST  D I E.”_ **

 

_You were struck with indescribable pain._

  


_Frisk._

_Frisk?_

_F R I S K-_

 

Frisk woke up, and found themselves not where they had fallen asleep. The distant rumble of cars alerted them at first to the fact that something was deeply wrong. Their eyes fluttered open, and a biting chill caused the cold sweat sticking to their spine to freeze. They shuddered, waking to a scenery that was at first unrecognisable in the dark. Shadows of trees stretched tall above them, pines and oaks that at night seemed menacing. Frisk realised that their feet were bare, pain coming back to them slowly as an echo of scratches and rough road. Their socks were torn in places, and blood stained the heel.

 

Frisk then recognised that they were several blocks away from their home, on the outskirts of town. The dim lights of the city just barely illuminated where they stood. They realised that if Toriel found out they were gone, then panic would be the goat-mother’s reaction at this hour. Yet how had they even come to _be_ here, in the first place? For the first time, a prickle of fear began to crawl up Frisk’s arms and the back of their neck. The dream… it had been so vivid, as if they were someone else.

They hadn’t dreamed like that since Chara, and the comparison did little to comfort the child. Something was _wrong._

 

They were broken from their thoughts by the sound of footsteps, and it was then that Frisk caught the tail-end of their name being called. Dazedly, they lifted their head, turning towards the familiar voice.

“S-Sans?”

 

The skeleton halted a few feet away from Frisk, his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his coat. He seemed openly relieved upon hearing the sound of Frisk’s voice.

 _“Christ,_ kid. You gave me a scare.”

Frisk didn’t really understand. They couldn’t remember what had happened, and something must have flickered upon their features. Sans’ smile faded, the white light of his eyes dimming in concern. His voice was low and serious.

 

“The others didn’t wake up, I caught you just as you were leaving out the door. I tried to get your attention, but it was like talking to a doll. You… you really don’t remember… do you?” Frisk shook their head slowly, and Sans looked unhappy. He hissed through his teeth a breath slowly, phalanges scraping along the smooth edge of his skull before he looked away. His voice was tinged with bitter humour. “And to think, I almost thought I could relax.”

“Sans…” Frisk murmured, their hands flexing and unflexing at their sides. Their eyes were filled with uncertainty. “What… what’s going on?”

“I don’t know, kid,” The skeleton answered grimly “Trust me, I wish I did. It looked… well to me at least, it looked like some kind of spell you were under. Not any Monster-based incantation I know of, though. It was… not pleasant. I didn’t wake anyone else up, because I didn’t...”

Frisk knew what he had likely thought. The implication of it made them want to throw up.

“It’s not… it isn’t Chara. The dreams... I've been having them for a while. Nothing like this, though.” They croaked, and the words made Sans look at once relieved and perhaps more concerned. He aimed for levity, attempting to smile.

“Well, then. That means at least it’s not all fallen apart yet, surely.”

 

Sans seemed to notice Frisk’s shivering then, muttering a curse under his breath as he realised the lateness of the hour and the chill. Carefully, he stepped forward, already shrugging off his jacket.

“C’mon, kid. We’ll get you home before we figure out what to about this. Can’t think when you’re shivering like a Chihuahua on ritalin. Who knows, maybe you’re just turning into a sleepwalker.”

 

He didn’t sound convinced, and by extension Frisk didn’t put much faith in his words. There was an unsettling sensation still lingering in their bones, as if they weren’t quite sure where the edges of their own body ended and where the rest of the world began. For a moment, they had been someone else, a girl who had waited and waited for someone who never had a chance to save them. Frisk didn’t know if it was a memory, or something imagined. It didn’t matter, it felt real in their blood, in their mind.

 

The weight of Sans’ coat seemed to ground Frisk, bringing them a bit closer to reality. They nodded at him, burrowing themselves deeper into the warmth of the fabric. Frisk allowed themselves a moment without worry, their eyes slipping shut. They scrambled to find some kind of faith inside of themselves, and found themselves unthinkingly reaching for Sans’ hand and squeezing. After a moment, he returned the gesture. His voice was calming, even as he took out his phone, texting Toriel no doubt. The glow of his screen illuminated the sockets of his eyes as he typed.

“We’ll figure this out, I promise.”


	2. Returned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter crashed on me at first >.>'' sorry about that
> 
> I hope you enjoy, puzzles are beginning to take shape and introductions to new characters will soon emerge ^_^

Sans had learned long ago that when things looked like they were all finally coming together, that was when the most shit could potentially go wrong. People let down their guard, stopped trying too hard, they began to feel complacent in their victory. Sometimes, it could come back to bite them in the ass. Then again, to constantly wait for some misfortune or another was perhaps not the healthiest mentality.

Eh, balance in life.

 

His day tended to follow a distinct pattern, in any event. In the morning, he’d wake up and eat breakfast with Papyrus. His brother’s cooking skills still left much to be desired, but given the fact that Sans had no real digestive system to speak of, it didn’t really matter. He’d eat whatever Pap made, encouraging him even while teasing him with bad puns. Papyrus would whine about the humour, but he’d ultimately find it amusing. When that was done, Sans would go to his room, locking the door.

 

He’d pull a silver key from his pocket, and grab his latest journal from the self-sustaining vortex of trash by the foot of his bed. Then, the skeleton would blink his way back outside and to the back door behind his home. It was in a sterile lab, quiet and fluorescent, that Sans would remove the sheet from a long-dead machine. He’d stare at it for a long time, sometimes make small notes in his journal here and there. Yet ultimately, it would fall to the same pattern. Sans would feel compelled to tinker with it.

Despite his despair of the past, and despite his determination-filled attempts to simply move with the flow of time, some old habits simply refused to die. Each time he picked up a screwdriver or tightened a bolt, a small voice whispered in the back of his head, hateful and vindictive:

_You’re just as bad as the kid, and you know it._

 

Sans liked to pretend that he was someone who preferred to sit back, one to observe before acting. It was a lesson he had learned from too many years of actively trying to meddle, the consequences leaving him numb to change. It didn’t mean he didn’t recognise however, when something was amiss. A strange, sixth sense had developed within him over many timelines and many false memories, and Sans knew when he woke with a strange certainty that there was something infinitely _wrong._ It was a stillness in the air, a stale flavour of sweat and darkness.

 

Sans often felt it when around Frisk. His hesitance around the kid had yet to fully die, despite the tentative conversations and quiet reflections in the dark. It was difficult, to look at someone who in one timeline tried to kill you with anything other than vague neutrality, if not contempt. He hated himself for that. The inability to forget, even if he forgave. For surely, he was the last creature in the entirety of all the Underground that could judge them for past discretions. Still, he couldn’t help but feel affection as well. It was a clashing of emotions, because the Frisk that all of his friends knew, the Frisk that _was actually Frisk,_ wouldn’t hurt a fly.

 

That in some ways was very much the problem. If Frisk _were_ cruel, _were_ hard… Sans would at least feel somewhat more justified in his feelings. Yet as it stood, he was left with little outlet for the darker parts of his memories, blurred images of murder that he himself felt in part responsible for. What was more, if anyone ever admitted to similar feelings he had, had admitted to wanting Frisk to suffer or hurt, he would have struck them down without any mercy.

Sans was so tired in some ways, of creating a family out of jagged pieces of glass, glued together by a kid’s gentle smile.

 

So he didn’t sleep, and he worked on his machine, and when Toriel called asking if he and Papyrus would like to come over, he agreed. A movie night would take the edge off of too many hours lingering on memories he couldn’t even fully recall. It had turned into a meeting, bordering on a party.

 

In many ways, Monsters since coming to the surface were more closely knit than ever. They actually talked to one another, created events just to see their friends, and shared in small human comforts like popcorn and snacks. It was a tenderness that never failed to make something in Sans’ chest squeeze. His friends were happy, and as a result _he_ was happy. It was a disorienting feeling, but he longed to hang onto it for as long as possible. Complacency, it was a tricky mistress. It liked to make you think that everything would work out, in the end.

 

In the slow, sliding period between sleep and wakefulness, Sans felt an energy beside him gutter like a candle. It was a strange feeling, the tail-end of his dream noticing the licking warmth shudder and fade. When he first opened his eyes, he thought nothing of it. He woke to find his friends all in similar states of sleep, Mettaton shut down for the night in an energy-conservation mode, and his brother Papyrus snoring loudly. Even Toriel, known for being a bit of a night owl herself, was resting in her favourite chair.

 

It came to him, slow and trickling like molasses. There was an absence beside him, a cushion left discarded in the centre of the couch. Frisk.

Blinking blearily, the skeleton began to look around, noticing the time marked out in green-printed numbers on the TV box:

**3:00 AM.**

 

Probably not the most ideal time for a small human child to be up and wandering about. Sans deliberated a moment, but his own unease soon got the better of him, and he was on his feet. He all but floated past Undyne, aware of her light sleeping tendencies, and paused before he left to make sure that the blanket ensconcing Papyrus covered him more fully. There was a curdle of something sour beginning to fester in his gut. The kid very rarely just disappeared without telling anyone.

Trouble for Frisk generally meant trouble for Sans, too.

 

He padded down the hall, his shadow a silent companion in the dark of Toriel’s home. Picture frames glinted in the moonlight, familiar faces somehow appearing glassy and dead in the night. He picked his way towards the front of the house, half-suspecting that maybe Frisk had woken up hungry and gone to the kitchen. Yet there was no warm glow emanating from that room, and he heard a creaking of floorboards towards the door. He had the vague, insane idea that someone might actually be trying to break in and rob a Monster’s home. The idea was nearly laughable.

 

The laughter died in Sans throat however, with a familiar outline standing near the door. In the grey light of early morning, Frisk was a ghost, and their normal non-verbal tendencies made them rather eerie. They stood like a doll propped up with strings, and for a moment the image blurred for the skeleton, a half-formed memory of another Frisk, shambling towards him. That one had a knife. He shuddered away from the image, swallowing thickly. Tentatively, Sans called.

“Frisk? What are you…”

 

Frisk turned, and this time Sans did jolt in surprise. Frisk’s features were slack, the glazed expression of a sleepwalker, and they moved with the stilted motions of a puppet. Stranger still and possibly the most terrifying factor, were the kid’s eyes. A soft blue light seemed to glow from them, sightless and uncomprehending. _Magic,_ Sans stunned mind supplied. Yet this Magic was unlike any kind he had seen before Chara, powerful and apparently latching itself to Frisk’s form. He had no idea if the kid was even aware, their features not seeming to register his words. The kid’s lips parted, but what came from their mouth was a language that Sans only vaguely recalled. It was a voice that sounded like Frisk’s, yet layered over by something ageless and calm.

It spoke in letters he had forgotten existed.

 

The skeleton had little time to translate, because Frisk then turned back towards the door. Small fingers reached the latch, and before Sans could stop them, the kid was shambling out onto the street.

 

Muffling a curse, Sans had only a moment’s hesitation. If he went back and chased down Toriel or Asgore now, who knows what would happen? The skeleton threw his hood up over his head, digging his hands deeply into his pockets. Whatever this was, he had the sinking feeling that the complacency he’d found in life was about to be uprooted.

 

****

 

Frisk woke at the edge of town finally, after walking for what felt like hours. Sans had followed closely behind, still shaken by the muttering of familiar gibberish and Frisk’s lack of response as a whole. The skeleton as he followed pondered over what kind of spell this could be, and a part of his mind throbbed with a familiar ache that he knew too well.

It had meant that he had forgotten something, again.

He felt frustration boil in his bones, but he pushed it aside. The more immediate problem, that’s what he had to deal with now.

 

Namely, the big issue was that he couldn’t seem to get Frisk to stop walking. He’d tried to latch onto their soul, searching for a familiar red light in his mind, and instead found only a wash of pale blue. It was elusive, untouchable, and it twisted out of his grasp like an eel. Yet it also did not attack, and a part of Sans wondered if it even could. It was like Napstablook, faded and wandering. He had no choice but to just follow, wondering if there was even a goal in mind. At least with Chara, the intent had been clear… this possession… It seemed aimless and strange.

 

The blue light made Frisk wander with it, right up until it very suddenly didn’t.

Sans watched as their friend had woken very suddenly, immediately obvious as the glow had faded from their eyes like a snuffed flame. They had blinked their way back to reality, and upon seeing Sans and the entire situation had looked suitably terrified. Sans couldn’t really blame them, he wasn’t exactly doing his best impression of a well-adjusted adult at that moment.

Part of that admittedly was that he had never really been good at being that in the first place.

 

He thought a flicker of red caught the corner of his eye, but when he turned it was only his reflection, holding up the kid in the window of a clothing store.

Sans swallowed down the feeling of having done this in another time, another place.

 

****

Texting Toriel had been an instinct more than a conscious decision, but Sans found to his relief that there were significantly less people in the house when they returned. His brother, Mettaton, Napstablook, Muffet and even Undyne had been chased out for now. Only Alphys had been left, her knowledge of Humans if anything a little more informed than most.

Frisk was exhausted, and they were leaning heavily upon them for the better half of their return home. They seemed drained, and Sans couldn’t help but compare it to the exhaustion most Monsters felt when they overused their Magic.

 

Frisk all but fell into their bed, only pausing to dazedly allow Toriel and Asgore to fuss over them upon their arrival, united for once over their child. The entire time, Frisk clung to Sans’ jacket, drifting in and out of their own head. The skeleton watched in muted observation, feeling on the back of his neck a pair of eyes watching him in concern.

Sans did his best to avoid Alphys, generally speaking. It was a mostly mutually beneficial arrangement. Part of it was that when things went wrong, they looked at him in a way that made his bones rattle.

 

“Sans, what happened?” Toriel asked once she had put Frisk to bed. Very little questions had been asked of the kid, given their state. The skeleton’s eyes were pinpoints, and he hunched at the question. He didn’t like not having an exact answer.

 

“Something complicated.” He managed finally, glancing at Toriel’s stricken expression and away again. Quietly, he explained what had happened, recounting the events in flat monotone. Sans unthinkingly omitted the voice that had come from Frisk, unable to tell the king and queen what it had said even if he had wanted to. It had been too quick, and it had been too long since he’d had to translate Wingdings. The connection alone was making a sick feeling crawl down his spine.

“I don’t know for certain, but all I can hazard as a guess is that the light was Magical residue. At least, that’s what it mostly acted like.” Minus the fact that he couldn’t trace it or attack it.

 

Asgore’s brow was deeply lined in troubled thought, and he stood by his ex in hulking concern. It was easy to forget how sheerly massive the king was compared to most monsters, yet now he stood as a veritable wall by the foot of the steps. It was as if he thought he could shield Frisk from danger by blocking the way to them with his mass.

“I have not heard of a Monster-made Magic that can manifest itself in the way you speak of.”

 

It was Alphys that piped up then, small and stuttering in the dark. She wrung her reptilian hands together nervously, as if she wished her words might swallow her whole.

“D-do we know that it’s Monster Magic?”

 

A silence fell over the room. Sans felt his hands curl at his sides immediately, the implication of Alphys’ words hanging heavy like a cloak. He was suddenly glad that Papyrus had been instructed to go home, as he sensed this conversation was going in a negative direction, fast. His grin turned bleak as the scientist stuttered, hesitantly explaining her reasoning.

“W-we know at one time, Humans had Magic. A-a-and Frisk… Frisk somehow survived the Underground, despite… despite all its dangers.”

“A Wizard hasn’t been seen in Humankind since Monsters were first locked away,”Asgore denied immediately, yet it felt forced. He looked around as if to confirm his declaration. It was true, that there had been no records of such powers manifesting in a long time.

 

That would be because a Human soul had to be exceptionally strong to withstand Magical power. From what little Sans knew of it, the mechanics between a Monster and Human soul were fundamentally different in that way. For a Monster, Magic was second-nature. He could not imagine an existence without it. Sans’ soul was mostly made of energy, and it flowed through his body in replacement of blood, of physical matter. A Human however, was flesh and muscle and sinew. He could not picture Magic flowing through so much organic chemistry, it _sat_ wrong in his mind. No matter how much he niggled at it, it remained like the concept of a splinter- painful in theory, and ill-advised.

 

“There has been no record of a child falling into our realm with any magical abilities whatsoever. Not since-”

The king broke off then, unwilling to say the name of his first Human child aloud. Although he didn’t seem entirely unconvinced by the proposal, Sans could see he was looking carefully in Toriel’s direction. Sans suspected Asgore occasionally remembered more than he elected to say, about alternative timelines. “But...Given the strength of Frisk’s soul and it’s similarities to… to Chara’s, it would fit.” The king finished in hesitance, seeming unhappy with his conclusion.

 

Toriel’s expression was dark as she looked at all of them, and her hands were curling and uncurling at her sides. Though her default nature was sweetness, Sans could see a storm brewing in his friend’s expression. Toriel had lost so many children so many times, it came as no surprise that the idea of one of them being in danger would be upsetting. Her voice was tight like a violin string as she addressed Alphys, the tone of a queen long ago left behind lending steel to her voice.

“What does it mean for my child. What is happening to Frisk?”

 

Alphys adjusted her spectacles, a critical expression flitting over her features. Her voice was uncertain, but she spoke firmly.

“I-I’m not sure. B-but… but there are old texts, scriptures that made it through the War. W-with the king’s permission I could… I could…”

“You have it.” Asgore murmured quietly. His expression softened as he watched Toriel’s frame shudder. He looked at Alphys, lowering himself onto one knee so he might better look the ex-royal scientist in the eye. His voice was quiet, but it held like an anchoring weight amidst all of the uncertainty presented. “Anything you need, Alphys, I will do my best to get you.”

 

The trust implied was implicit, and Alphys seemed more than a bit overwhelmed by it. It was clear she hadn’t been expecting such immediate acquiescence, given her past. She stammered platitudes, letting the atmosphere fall once more into silence. She seemed to be summoning up the courage to ask for something, and patiently all of them waited. Sans already had a feeling of what Alphys was after, because it would have been the first text he’d request in her situation.

“T-To start with,” the scientist began. She paused, took a deep breath before continuing, apparently determined to keep her voice steady. “To start with, I’ll need ‘ _The Book Of Souls.’_ ”

 

Sans grinned, but it was not a happy smile. Of course. Where else should one start than with one of the few copies left from a time when Human and Monsters lived side by side?

 

****

 

Sans texted Papyrus that night, a short message letting him know that he was free to come back to Toriel’s tomorrow. He elected himself to be official bodyguard of a sorts, promising to wake Toriel or Asgore should Frisk stir. The two worried parents made their way to separate rooms after bidding Alphys goodbye, trusting the skeleton to let them know if anything significant changed. Out of all of them, he could deal with sleep deprivation the best. Somehow, Sans doubted anything new would occur, but one could never be too certain.

 

He seated himself at the foot of the stairs in the empty house, leaning back against the steps and staring up at the ceiling in lost thought. Meandering theories and calculations flitted through his mind as he waited in silence, occupying his time.

 

It was here that he allowed himself to drift, and before he knew it, he was wandering into the waist-high dregs of a dream.

 

_Papyrus was crying again._

_It was a child’s cry, high and frightened and likely due to falling off of the kitchen chair again._

 

_You sighed, rising from the couch and rubbing at your face tiredly. Even when you weren’t working, your job was never really done. Sure enough, you found your brother sprawled on the floor, lanky limbs all akimbo like a newborn fawn. There were tears in the skeleton’s eyes, and they only seemed to cry harder when they caught sight of you. You went over to them, Magic humming under your skin as you moved them back to their place on the chair. Blue Magic caused some of your brother’s sobbing to stop, hurt forgotten by the delight of temporarily floating. You fought off a smile, your brother was in some ways so easy to please. In many ways, all he wanted was attention, something you were completely willing to give._

 

_“Sans!” Pap greeted you as you took your place in the opposite chair, their legs kicking excitedly against the chair legs. You hummed, offering your brother a smile. You realised that you had forgotten to take off your lab coat again, having fallen asleep before you got around to it. Unthinkingly you shrugged it off, folding it over the counter. Some of Papyrus’ expression fell at the sight of it. He looked at you with hopefulness, but also resignation. “Do you have to work again tonight?”_

 

_You nodded reluctantly, and drummed your fingers against the counter. Already you mind was drifting to calculations, to formulas and blueprints and outlines of things far more complicated than your brother’s loneliness._

_“Yeah, buddy. But hopefully it’ll be the last overnight shift for a while. Gotta get a skele-ton of work sorted if we want to get somewhere with this project.” You were careful, never giving away too much about the nature of your job. It was too top-secret, and too dangerous. Neither of you acknowledged the fact that you had been promising an end to the overnighters for nearly a month, now._

_“Is Alphie coming over, at least?” You smiled at the nickname for your fellow lab-tech, pleased that Alphys had managed to win over your brother’s interest so thoroughly. Papyrus badly needed friends his own age, but it was a start at least that he hadn’t blindly challenged Alphys to a battle. Your brother hung around with very passionate people as a whole, and he had found his newest idol to be a very aggressive fish-girl a few years ahead of his age. It made Papyrus very eager to face people, and so you didn’t really mind._

 

_“It could be arranged, if you’re good. I know Alphys has some new cartoons she wants to share with you.”  Your brother seemed cheered by this, and you breathed a silent sigh of relief. After all, you wanted Papyrus to be happy._

  
_What was the point of all of this, if not for the sake of your brother?_


	3. The Man Who Speaks In Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an introduction to Gaster, and to some plot~ 
> 
> I hope you enjoy ^_^

 

Frisk woke the next morning and was informed that they had been called in sick from school. It didn’t surprise them, but still they were left with a feeling of incompleteness as they drifted about the house in their pyjamas, no classes to attend. Their bare feet kept wandering inevitably to their school bag, and their alarm clock blinked at them, accusing them of lateness.

They should be just starting English class, just about now.

 

Being the head of the school, Toriel had been unable to get the time off. She had seemed unhappy, but ultimately Frisk had pushed them to go. They weren’t going to let their mom risk the school’s well-being over recent events.

Instead, Asgore had volunteered to keep an eye on them, a rare compromise between the king and queen. Frisk found themselves listening to the sounds of their adopted father shuffling throughout their home, valiantly attempting not to scrape his horns against the ceiling.

 

Frisk sat curled up on the couch that they had left the night before, knees locked tightly together by the cage of their arms. They stared before them without really seeing anything, wracking their brain and trying to remember any scrap of information of what had happened. They could recall blue light, a voice and the sensation of floating outside of their body. They tasted copper-fear when they pressed too hard on the memories, as if they were fragile like hand-spun cobwebs.

It frustrated them, how it hurt to try and remember. It was as if Frisk’s brain was being purposefully difficult.

They frowned to themselves, hardly noticing when Asgore eventually moved from the kitchen to take a seat next to them in Toriel’s chair (it was one of the few pieces of furniture built for his bulk).

 

That was the other thing, since last night Frisk hadn’t had a moment to themselves. In ordinary circumstances, they were a relatively social child, and did not mind the company of Monsters or Humans. Yet Frisk felt their family’s worry like an ill-fitting second skin, and it made them chafe. The constant vigilance was making them feel like a prisoner in their own home, and they’d have done anything for someone to bail them out.

 

They just wanted things to return to normal, or as normal as their life was. Frisk was already beginning to notice that their dad wasn’t smiling as much as he normally would be, and Toriel had nearly broken down into tears before drawing the strength to leave for school. Their parents were afraid, Frisk knew. It filled them with a black guilt that they were the source of their distress, be it intentional or not.

 

“It is a beautiful day outside, we could go and make a picnic for lunch. It’s been so nice that Muffet’s even taken her bake-sales outdoors on the streets as of late.” Asgore interrupted the pit of self-loathing Frisk was rapidly working themselves into, perhaps sensing the blackness of their mood. Their dad’s dark brown eyes were kind as his gaze drifted towards the window. Sure enough, he was right. Azure skies and soft white clouds were framed by the window sill, and Toriel’s garden was already working hard to get a few late blooms in before winter came.

 

Frisk, not really feeling up to it, shook their head. Stubbornly, they tried again to throw themselves against the mental block that clouded their dreams. Still, nothing. They grit their teeth in frustration, fingers burying tightly in the fabric of their corduroys. Frisk could feel the weight of Asgore’s consideration upon them. It felt like judgement, and it sat like a cloak upon them.

Maybe going outside would be better than staring at the television in silence, pretending not to address their recent psychotic break.

Frisk winced internally at that thought. Perhaps “psychotic” was a strong word.

 

Sighing, they stood and looked at their dad expectantly. Asgore smiled, dark eyes crinkling at the edges. When he rose he moved to tousle a hand through their hair.

“I think there’s supplies for sandwiches in the kitchen.” Accepting the acquiescence, Frisk trailed behind them.

 

****

 

Frisk had nothing if not a good poker face. They had perfected the neutral look of calm, and combined with their easygoing attitude, it was widely known that very little could upset them.

 

Asgore could tell their child was upset, although they were being very careful about hiding it. It was nothing concrete, not a physical tell that he could really point out to someone. Most people thought him rather oblivious, but the truth of the matter was that Asgore merely chose when he wanted to observe. A blind eye could protect someone, if they used it correctly. In the same way, choosing to pay attention at the right time could save a life.

Frisk had been cutting the same pickle into pieces for the last fifteen minutes, dicing the unfortunate vegetable into smaller and smaller cubes. They stared at it with utmost concentration, a line between their brows.

 

What Asgore perhaps didn’t realise was that it wasn’t the pickle that Frisk was regarding with care.

It was the knife they held rock-steady in their hand, similar and yet utterly different from the one of their dreams.

 

****

 

It wasn’t that Frisk was uncomfortable around their adoptive father, but rather that they always felt like lingering underneath the casual conversations revolving around tea and gardening, there was a wreath of unspoken words. They felt the same way around Toriel too, in truth, but there was no way to break the illusion of domesticity. Frisk knew that even if Asriel hadn’t expressed his wish to be forgotten, they still wouldn’t have been able to tell their parents the truth of what had happened on their quest to free the Underground.

 

There were too many scars surrounding the king and queen’s first child that had yet to heal cleanly, and though Frisk _couldn’t_ forget Asriel, they understood the need to move on. Toriel still grieved for her lost children, and Frisk knew that Asgore grieved with her. They had no wish to cause old sores to be reopened, and so they clutched the golden flower teacup that Asgore always gave them tightly and grit their teeth. Their parents deserved that much.

Still, it felt wrong to hear Asgore speak of his son, so much so that Frisk jumped with the rumble of the king’s voice.

 

“Asriel… he loved warm weather.” It was if their father could read their thoughts unintentionally, sometimes. He often spoke of the topics Frisk wished to avoid unthinkingly. They looked over to where the king was gazing, and found him looking at Toriel’s collection of herbs and wildflowers. Sweet chrysanthemums brought a soft scent to their noses, mingling with the golden flavour of grass and earthy soil. Thistles were bright puffs of colour, violet and blue and dotted sparsely in between. Asgore’s eyes were misted over with memory.

“He used to run all about Hotland, constantly getting into trouble with the guards and getting lost in the machinery. Half the time he came home with oil trapped in his fur.”

The king laughed at the memory fondly. “He’d never been so embarrassed in his life, Toriel insisted on scrubbing the living daylights out of him.”

 

The memory sounded like a sweet one, and Frisk found themselves drinking it in greedily. They had only gotten to know Asriel for a short time, but somehow they always felt like they had known him forever. They supposed it had to do in part with Chara’s influence and memories. Still, those nightmares had been infused with hatred, malevolent and warped like a fogged mirror. This side of Asriel, the foolish, sensitive side was an echo of what Frisk still wished they could go back and save.

 

“Do you miss him?” They found themselves asking, though they already knew the answer. Asgore’s face, twisted with the memory of happiness alone spoke for him. Still, Frisk allowed the answer to wash over them, as well as the rising guilt.

“Every day.” Their father answered, quietly.

 

The two of them finished their sandwiches in silence, neither one of them willing to touch the metaphorical landmine that such an answer could detonate.

Frisk thought of yellow flowers, and they thought of falling down into an endless tunnel of darkness, yawning wider than any monster’s maw.

 

****

 

Frisk tried to text Sans later in the afternoon. They wanted some company, or at least someone to converse with that they didn’t have to keep secrets from. Their fingers tapped out a message swiftly, darting blue and white across the screen.

_Hey, you there?_

 

There was no reply. Frisk frowned, feeling inexplicably guilty over the shun. It was possible their friend was just busy. Yet they couldn’t get the skeleton’s expression from last night out of their skull, fear and suspicion and dread engraved into a perma-grin. Mouth dry, they set the phone onto the wooden table and refused to look at it again. If they didn’t look at it directly, then maybe the whole situation didn’t exist.

 

****

 

Alphys arrived in the evening after Toriel’s return from school, looking nervous. She clutched to her chest a thick tome that to Frisk, looked like it belonged in a museum. It was bound in black leather, and along its spine they could see that coloured gems had been embedded. Light blue, green, dark blue… shades that seemed to catch the eye and confuse it. In the scientist’s capable claws, it seemed elicit.

 

Toriel let Alphys in, her eyes dark as she stared at the book. Frisk thought to themselves that they had never seen their mother look so hesitant to greet a guest before. Not even Asgore could bring about the mix of hesitation and fear that flit across the queen’s gaze. She smoothed her massive paws along her habitual robes as Alphys passed, and Frisk noticed their trembling.

As a group, they all seemed to mutually agree that the kitchen table was perhaps the best resting place for the book. Alphys set it down with great care, the yellow pages crackling with the movement. Frisk caught a glance of the cover before it was opened, and saw familiar runes. They were the same font that could be found all over the Underground, somehow at once both ancient and legible. Their eyes scanned them, reading the title.

_The Book Of Souls._

 

“I-I thought this m-might be the best place to start,” Alphys nervously began, clawed hand pushing the text open to a table of contents. Her free hand came up to adjust her glasses, pushing them further up along her orange snout. “This b-book’s as old as the Underground, and it’s filled with… w-with information about the s-surface from before. It… it t-told us about how the barrier c-could be broken.”

 

Frisk sucked in a breath, leaning in closer to gaze at the bottle-green ink littering the page. The book was crammed with tiny, neat cursive, diagrams and elaborate drawings occasionally breaking up large paragraphs of heavy text. Each page was precisely numbered, and the book seemed to be incredibly detailed. They caught a delicate drawing of an Echo flower on one page, on the next an illustration of Mt. Ebott. It was so lifelike that Frisk could practically smell the pine trees that surrounded it on the back of their tongue.

 

“It seems to be fairly undamaged.” Asgore murmured approvingly, dark eyes darting keenly over the pages as Alphys flipped through them. The ex-royal scientist nodded distractedly, her lips mouthing silently over edges of text that she passed over.

“The librarians k-kept it separate, in a room th-that was dark so the ink wouldn’t fade as much,” There was a note of pride in her voice as she looked up at the king and queen. “It’s practically a heritage artefact, at this point.”

 

Alphys thumbed through the pages for a moment longer, humming under her breath. Frisk watched tentatively as she seemed to find the section she was hunting for, grinning in triumph. She tapped a claw at the title, and Frisk craned their neck to read over her shoulder.

_Human Magic._

 

Toriel read aloud, her voice reluctant but steady. A hush had fallen over the kitchen, the three Monsters and one Human all feeling the weight that seemed to hang like a cloud over them.

“In the time before our banishment, Humans and Monsters alike used Magic as a part of their everyday existence. However, there was a fundamental difference in how the power manifested in each respective species.

 

“A Human soul is stronger than a Monsters as we all know, but as a result it struggles to tap into the true well of its abilities. Like a safety mechanism, Human Magic rests naturally dormant within its host, unlike the abilities of us Monsters. The average Monster child will gain their Magical abilities by their one hundredth year, but a Human might never be able to access the true power of their Soul. A Human must be in active need of their Magic in order to use it correctly, and without proper guidance, the power could very well rip apart its host. Mastered however, it becomes a fearsome weapon, one that a Monster cannot hope to fight against. This is due mostly to the fact that a Human Soul can harbor many kinds of Magic at once, if taught to do so.”

 

Frisk felt all eyes drawn to them then, and it felt as though their bones were made of lead. They couldn’t seem to tear their eyes away from the page, where an illustration of a love heart surrounded by light was drawn. The image reminded them of two things at once, both the sensation of their Soul being drawn out of their body, and the fire that so often came with dying in the Underground. It had been a long time since their words had escaped them, but now they found themselves unable to utter a sound. Their lips parted, but all that came was a vague wheeze of air. Frisk clenched their teeth in frustration with themselves. _Damn it._

They lifted their hand, giving in to signing the question. There wasn’t time to wait until the sick feeling in the pit of their stomach went away.

 

_So when I fell into the Underground, I triggered my abilities?_

 

Toriel was quick to answer, easily the best out of the three Monsters at translating sign language. Her voice was low and serious.

“It appears to be what the book is implying, my child. You did not have these powers before, did you?”

 

Frisk hesitated, thinking upon it. Rarely did they contemplate their life before the Underground. Their story was not exactly a happy tale, and it was best sometimes to leave old scars abandoned, so they might heal. Yet from what they remembered, there had been times when they had been very afraid… very lost…

Strange events happened around Frisk. Their parents had always thought it their fault. Inexplicable fires, blown-out windows… and the SAVES. Frisk always knew somehow, that they could SAVE. It had been an ability that had lingered with them since before their memories existed. They had SAVED good memories, chocolate cakes and small presents wrapped under a Christmas tree. They had also SAVED before tragedy, cold and empty bus stops and the feeling of no one, not a soul, coming to get them.

 

Slowly, they shook their head. They signed to Toriel, their expression flat and emotionless. Perhaps sensing their reluctance to pry, Frisk’s mother did not push for a better response. There was something soft in her eyes, and something sad as she translated for the other two (who were slower to read and comprehend).

_No. I’ve always been able to RESET. It’s just the sleepwalking that’s new. Something else triggered this._

 

Alphys hummed in thought, her scaly head tilted in reptilian consideration.

“Th-then your default ability is time travel. Whatever this is, it’s new Magic to you, and so you likely have little c-control of it,”

She flipped through the book again, reading a few more lines before shooting a glance at Frisk. Alphys’ voice was inquisitive, if not kind.

“A M-Monster fuels their Magic on a base emotion- we called it our _m-mantra._ D-Do you know if your Magic… do you have to feel a really strong emotion to use it? I-I know your Soul is red… but I w-want to know if colour has the s-same connotation for Human Souls as it does for M-Monsters. W-we have attacks that come in a c-certain colour, b-but it doesn’t mean that’s what fuels o-our power. Its the c-colour of whatever emotion we had to master in order to gain the ability.”

 

Frisk nodded, their eyebrows lowering in comprehension. Of course, it was the same emotion that had doggedly driven them to never give up on saving their friends. It was the emotion that drove Chara to kill. It was the emotion that seemed some days to fill their blood and bones and skin until they were nothing left but the manifestation of it.

They breathed the word like a sigh, finding their voice with enough strength to utter it aloud.

**_“Determination.”_ **

 

Both Asgore and Toriel stiffened immediately, and Frisk knew why. They braced themselves for it, waiting for their parents to state the similarities to their previous child aloud. Yet the words never came, and instead there was a strained silence as both king and queen looked at one another in a mixture of pain and confusion.

Frisk trembled, their hands clenching and unclenching at their sides.

 

Alphys sighed through their nose. They didn’t seem that surprised, more bitterly amused at the irony. Though Asgore and Toriel knew of the experiments that Alphys had performed they did not know its true horrors. They did not know that their past children had been the source of so much pain, so much torment. They knew the amalgamates, but they did not know what had made them become such terribly disfigured creatures.

“O-Of course. I t-t-try to avoid the stuff for once, and it f-follows. ‘Determination.’ It’s l-like a bad coin.” Alphys rubbed a hand over their face, slumping into the kitchen chair. She seemed to draw an explosive breath in and out of her diaphragm then, forcing herself to straighten.

 

She gave Frisk a sickly approximation of a smile.

“T-the good news is, that means I know what t-type of Magic you were using last n-night. The b-bad news is, I still don’t know why,” Alphys turned in her chair then, lizard tail whipping back and forth in excitement. She looked up at Asgore, gaze keen. “W-who else do we know that h-has light blue Magic? B-better yet, who’s mastered that type of Magic and so m-might be able to help Frisk? ”

 

Frisk breathed sharply, realisation crashing through them. They looked at Alphys as if they might be pulling their leg.

_Papyrus?_

They signed. Alphys grinned, her crooked smile pleased with their studiousness. Out loud, Asgore agreed. His expression however was rather long-suffering.

“Papyrus.”

 

The king groaned then, and placed his head in his hands. Frisk didn’t seem to completely comprehend, until their father uttered his thoughts aloud.

“Except that it took several _centuries_ for Papyrus to master his Magic, given the fact that the emotion he needed to master is the exact _opposite of what his soul is made of,_ ”

 

He looked at Frisk rather helplessly before elaborating. Even then, he seemed reluctant to do so, as if he thought he were already jinxing Frisk’s chances of success. _“Patience.”_

 

Frisk regarded their father carefully, then slowly lifted their hand. Painstakingly, they signed.

_Well. Looks like I’m Fuc-_

 

 _“Frisk.”_ Toriel chided. Her heart didn’t seem to be in it.

 

****

In the space between worlds, a shadow flickered. Like a strobe light, it shuddered in and out of existence, humming a static-filled racket that seemed to gum up the very air.

Something crawled in that shadow-space, made of hands and darkness and sharply cut smiles. Something tired. It trailed in a sluggish pace, snail-like and molasses in form and movements.

 

It carried behind it limbs that didn’t entirely start or finish, twisting and twitching this way and that, stretched out between time and space. Continuously pulled and pushed in and out of creation, they hung like dead tree branches from their trunk, a man with only a mask for a face. It was an oval that was scarred and cracked, bone-white. One eye in the face was pinned permanently open, a white point of light peering out from it. The other was a sunken half-crescent, blind and dead.

 

The man who didn’t exist watched quietly in the hallway of a warm home. He was a wraith, wrapped up in non-existence and thus invisible to most. He was a Monster unseen by other Monsters, and he looked on as strangers peered over a book he had once known well.

 

In particular, he watched the Human. Hollow hands lifted gesturing and mimicking the way the child’s hands moved. Signs, speaking with hands. At one point, the wraith thought he might have found kinship with such an act.

The motions glitched, as he too glitched through time, pixelated and formless. The man once known as W.D Gaster vanished then from reality, unravelling like a line of yarn pulled from a knitted sweater.

He left behind only a faint suggestion of runes, etched onto the hardwood floor. Wingdings, written as if scratched painstakingly into the the grain.

 

Best not for him to linger, as _it_ still hunted him. The Anomaly.

The thing that ate through and erased all it touched without mercy.

It was the one thing that in this form, he still had to fear, and it was one of the few instincts he still understood in his own brain clearly.

_Run, because it will find you. Run, because if it does, then it will eat you and your shattered form will vanish._

 

****

Papyrus seemed delighted to be called, although he expressed concern over Frisk’s general health and wellbeing. The skeleton’s voice carried loudly even through a speaker, and despite the situation at hand, Frisk found themselves stifling a smile. Papyrus never failed to cheer them up, if only because he was forever doing his best to brighten up a dark situation.

 

_“YOU WISH TO LEARN MAGIC? NEVER FEAR! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AM AN EXCELLENT TEACHER, THOUGH I DO NOT KNOW HOW A HUMAN’S MAGIC WORKS, ADMITTEDLY.”_

Alphys called towards the phone, assuring Papyrus that she would be able to aid in instruction. The skeleton seemed reassured by her presence, though it was clear he hadn’t thought it’d be a real obstacle to begin with.

 

“Is Sans going to come, too?”

Frisk couldn’t help but ask, worried about their friend. There was the distinct sound of Papyrus shouting down into the basement of his home for his brother, and muffled sibling-type bickering. Papyrus’ voice sounded exasperated, and Frisk frowned. It had been a while since the skeleton-brothers had really been in a disagreement. Usually, Sans just mocked and Papyrus suffered through it good-naturedly.

It was a moment of waiting before the taller skeleton seemed to make his way back to his phone, and when he did his tone was uncharacteristically frustrated.

_“SANS IS UNABLE TO MAKE IT, CURRENTLY. HE SAYS HE IS ‘LOOKING INTO SOMETHING’. NEVER FEAR THOUGH, FOR I WILL MAKE SURE HE EVENTUALLY COMES UP FROM THE BASEMENT TO EAT SOMETHING.”_

 

The reassurance did make some of the tension in Frisk’s shoulders loosen, despite the refusal. They murmured a thanks, hanging up with Papyrus’ renewed and cheerful goodbye. A prickle of unease melted inside of them, even as the suspicion that Sans hadn’t been telling the whole truth about what occurred when he had found them wandering out of the house grew.

 

****

 

_The snow was cold slush, biting into the edges of your soft slippers. Ordinarily, you didn’t bother to walk much. Now, you remembered why._

_It didn’t really matter. Nothing mattered, so you let the cold of it chill your bones and fill you until you were numb._

 

_Numbness was better, numbness so that you couldn’t feel your fingers, couldn’t feel the bright scrap of red fabric you held between your palms._

 

_Dust covered the red scarf, mingled with snow. Your breath trailed from your teeth in wisping clouds, and the illogical heat that came from it seemed somehow funny to you. Nothing was funny._

_What were you thinking?_

 

_Still, you laughed, and the sound came out strangled from your lips. Your shoulders heaved, something in your stomach quivering. Nausea, humour,  it didn’t matter._

_You’d lost another brother._

_You’d lost the one person you swore you couldn’t lose._

 

 _Worse, you’d lost them because despite your best instincts, you had sat there and done_ **_nothing._ **

 

**_Y o u   s c r e a m e d._ **

 

Sans woke just in time to smother the shriek that threatened to leave his body, jerking upright and covering his mouth with his hand. His breath came in sharp, heaving gasps.

A nightmare.

A memory.

 

He hated how often those two words seemed to be one and the same to his mind. Sans closed his eyes, willing the image of Papyrus’ death back from the depths of his recollection. His skeletal fingers clenched tightly atop of his desk, and he slowly reigned in his breathing back into some semblance of control.

 

After a moment, Sans realised what had awoken him. Ironically, Papyrus was pounding on the basement door from the top of the steps. He took a moment to look at his desk, where a sleepless night of rifling through old papers and diagrams had left the space a nest of disorganisation. Sans took a moment to thank whatever deities out there that Papyrus took him seriously when he told him that he was in the middle of important work.

 

He rubbed at his face, scrubbing away the lingering feeling of raw terror. Sans repeated the mantra in his head that he had begun to take up since the start of these dreams. It was a treble note in his mind, bright as he hastened to clean up his journals and notes.

_Papyrus is alive. Your brother is safe. Papyrus is ok._

Sans’ fingers brushed a glossed photograph. It sent cold chills down his fingers, and he avoided the gaze of the three individuals depicted.

 

Sometimes, it sucked no longer being able to feign ignorance to the thousands of timelines that never existed.

 

Papyrus called again, and this time he shouted back some non-answer. His brother would only wait so long before he literally dragged Sans by the hood of his sweater to the kitchen for at least a meal, but that was probably still a few hours away yet. Just enough time for him to look into one last calculation, readjust the order of his notes…

 

The photograph sat there, mocking him. After a moment longer, the skeleton couldn’t resist. Sans reached for it blindly, pausing it to give a once-over consideration. It was a torn image, beaten and dented. Still, no one would be unable to recognise Papyrus’ childish grin, or his own laid-back smile.

His eyes, white pinpricks of pained light, was always drawn to the figure standing behind them, gazing down at the both of them with all the fraternal love of an older brother.


	4. Magic Training

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Papyrus tries to teach Frisk how to use blue Magic... there are some bumps on the road ahead...
> 
> Next chapter will introduce Monster Kid as well as have more Sans~ ^_^
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

The next day dawned bright and clear.

 

It had been a long time since Frisk had to face Papyrus in a battle, and privately the lack of snow and chill kept their more negative memories of past events at bay. 

The backyard was perhaps not the largest of training grounds, but in the spring heat the lawn made a soft cushion should someone fall, and the sweet scent of flowers added a lighthearted tone to the meeting. 

 

Papyrus’ voice carried over the yard, and Frisk was relatively certain that if the neighbours were outside, they would be more than a bit confused as to what was happening just over the safety of their wooden fences. 

 

If they had been able to look into the yard, the sight before them would have been both strange and comical. Papyrus stood as gangly and sharp-edged as ever, rather like a gazelle on stilts. Frisk often wondered how the skeleton never underestimated his own limbs, as they could sometimes barely comprehend being so tall. 

Frisk themselves was a sight to behold, Toriel insisting that they don some protection over their clothing, in case the lessons got rough. A red ice-skating helmet was clapped over their head, and they wore wrist braces and knee and elbow pads. All of them were mismatched and riotous in colour, collected from various thrift stores at the last minute. The armour was heavy, and made Frisk feel rather unbalanced. They weren’t so sure that if they tried to move they wouldn’t just fall on their face. 

 

“NOW, HUMAN,” Papyrus shouted, because he didn’t really have any other volume. He instructed much like Undyne in that way, commanding and unflinchingly. The difference to his teaching style was in his unfailing positivity and optimism. “BLUE MAGIC IS A TRICKY BIT OF BUSINESS, ONE THAT TOOK ME A LONG TIME TO LEARN,”

He pressed one hand to his chest in dramatic fashion, as if to further indicate to whom he was referring to. “IT REQUIRES CONCENTRATION, HARD WORK, AND CENTURIES OF PRACTICE. UNFORTUNATELY, YOU DO NOT SEEM TO HAVE THAT KIND OF TIME.” 

 

At this, Papyrus darted his gaze away awkwardly, perhaps realising that his little pep-talk was rather the opposite of helpful. Frisk frowned up at him, trying not to feel as though this were already a lost cause. Sweat was beginning to collect at the back of their neck, the padding hot and uncomfortable. They felt a bit like a hot-dog being baked alive. 

“LUCKILY, I, PAPYRUS, AM YOUR TEACHER. SINCE I HAVE ALREADY MASTERED THE ABILITY, I SHOULD BE ABLE TO TEACH IT TO YOU IN LESS TIME THAN IT TOOK ME TO LEARN IT ON MY OWN.” 

 

The logic was both infallible, and unfollowable. Frisk darted a nervous glance towards their father, who had elected to watch the training on the sidelines. Asgore seemed a little doubtful, if not completely stressed by the whole event. He kept shooting looks at Alphys, who was busy scribbling notes into a spiral-bound journal. It was as if he thought by glancing at her alone he could somehow stop this complete madness. 

 

Frisk bit their lip, carefully widening their stance. Satisfied that they wouldn’t fall down, they signed to Papyrus that they were ready to begin. With a small “Nyeh-heh-heh”, Frisk felt a familiar tug from somewhere deep within them. Their soul emerged from their body, and the world faded and dimmed before their eyes as it did so until it was the brightest object in their line of vision. 

 

“NOW, YOU CANNOT CURRENTLY DRAW YOUR OWN SOUL OUT OF YOUR BODY YET, FRISK,” Papyrus cautioned “BUT IN THE FUTURE, YOU SHOULD BE ABLE TO. THAT IS THE FIRST STEP TO ALL MAGIC, KNOWING YOUR OWN SOUL. NOW, I WANT YOU TO TRY AND LOOK AT HOW I SUMMON MY MAGIC.” 

Frisk tried to look like they weren’t entirely panicking at the memories that came from previous battles that were flashing before their eyes.

 

Across from them, Papyrus’s bones seemed to hum with gentle power, a faint pale blue tone settling over him. He seemed to breathe deeply, and as he did the Magic rippled with the motion, like a cloak pulled over him. It was a pond, lake water being pulled as if from the air. Frisk hadn’t been really paying attention to Papyrus’ Magic in the previous timelines where they’d fought, but there was a certain delicacy to it. 

 

As they looked on it seemed like his power clung to his bones like a second skin, wrapping about himself protectively.  It was strange to see deftness in anything when in reference to the tall skeleton, yet the only way they could describe the feeling of the Magic was that it was…  _ soft.  _ On Papyrus’ face was an uncharacteristic look of deep concentration, and Frisk could suddenly see why. For though the skeleton’s  _ Magic  _ was calm and tranquil, Papyrus’ soul was  _ not.  _

 

It burned as a bright orange candle, a flame shuddering with power in the centre of a wishing well. It seemed to vibrate in place, occasionally shooting out vivid orange sparks that cooled back to blue the further out it reached. It was beautiful, a bonfire and a beating drum at once, and Frisk was dazzled by the boldness of it, locked tightly under a veneer of still patience. 

 

“I… I can  _ see _ it.” Frisk breathed aloud, feeling the familiar shuddering of pale blue light as it reached towards them. It was similar to the colour of their dreams, although not identical. There was an energy to it, a playfulness that was distinctly Papyrus all on its own. They giggled, reaching out to touch it and being pleasantly surprised when it seemed to lick up their palms, across their arms and face. 

 

Papyrus laughed in triumph, grinning from one nonexistent ear to the other. He nodded approvingly at Frisk’s joy, scarf blowing in the breeze generated by rattling bones and shuddering power. He spread his arms, and with the motion his own soul drifted forward, closer to Frisk’s own.

 

“GREAT! THAT’S REALLY FANTASTIC, FRISK. NOW, THE HARDER PART,” Papyrus’ gaze seemed to narrow in focus, and Frisk felt a shift in the skeleton’s Magic. It started to envelop them more fully, drawing away from Papyrus and closer to them. It was creating a vortex, a suction of sound and vision in which Frisk was the eye of the storm. They gasped, their hair tossed by the wind in every direction. They were pressed closer down to the grass by the whorling storm, until their knees were pushed against soil. The noise of it was getting stronger, and Frisk began to feel the first inkling of actual apprehension over this training plan. Over the wind, Papyrus’ voice called out to them. 

“YOU NEED TO SUMMON YOUR MAGIC AND USE IT TO MAKE YOUR SOUL BLUE.”

 

_ What? _

 

Frisk peered wildly through the tornado in dismay, searching for Papyrus’ face. Yet the Magic was a wall of sheer power, and worse it appeared to be gradually narrowing. They didn’t know what their friend wanted, or what he meant.  _ Turn your Soul blue? How?  _ What kind of instruction was  _ that?  _ They cursed, the wind causing tears to burn in the corner of their eyelids. 

Frisk looked down at their Soul, a solid red heart steadily beating in front of their chest. Frisk’s hands reached up automatically to cup it, sensing its power lying dormant. It felt warm between their fingers, alive. 

 

The tornado was closing in, and Frisk began to tremble. They didn’t know what would happen if Papyrus’ attack hit them, but somehow they had the feeling that his raw Magic would do more damage than his usual preferred bones. This was pure energy, and it crackled in a way that made the hair at the back of Frisk’s neck stand on end. When was the last time they had bothered to SAVE? They felt a cold lick of dread at the realisation that they didn’t know. How far back would they go back if they RESET, if they fell back through time? 

 

Terror twisted Frisk’s features, their dark eyes flashing in fear. Their Soul kicked in their hands. 

_ “Papyrus!” _ They shrieked, but their voice felt lost in the wind. Frisk couldn’t wait, they were shaking with fear. They didn’t think as they lashed out, their Soul reacting in kind. Red Magic flowed from Frisk, raw power clashing with blue in Strobing collision. They tasted copper and electricity in their mouth with the impact.

 

The reaction was immediate and violent. Frisk felt their Soul  _ wrench  _ itself away from Papyrus’ Magic, an elastic band pulled taut, now suddenly free. Red Magic doubled back, hitting Frisk squarely in the chest. They felt the breath slam out of them, leaving them gasping as they were thrown viciously several feet across the yard. The cyclone of blue Magic vanished, and Frisk’s Soul buried itself deep inside of them as they hit the ground with a skid. 

 

For a moment, the yard was silent as the absence of wind descended upon everyone’s ears. Frisk lay stunned, their skull ringing from the impact. The sound of it was only broken when a groan of pain finally left their lips, the beginnings of bruises already starting to form on their back and knees. 

 

When the ringing in their ears cleared out, Frisk could hear Papyrus shouting their name. His normally cheerful countenance was now high with stress and panic, and Asgore’s lower tones were urgent background noise. Frisk blinked, willing away nausea as slowly, painstakingly, they sat up. 

For a moment, the world spun like a top thrown into a blender. Then, Frisk managed to shake their head into some semblance of focus. 

The first thing they noticed was a certain tall skeleton running to them, long limbs already reaching as if to help them out. Frisk winced as Papyrus shouted over them, scrambling to help them up and see if they were injured. 

 

“WOWIE, THAT WAS A STRONG REPULSION. THAT HARDLY EVER HAPPENED WHEN I WAS TRAINING WITH ASGORE AND UNDYNE.”  _ Hardly,  _ was the operative word, in Frisk’s mind. They accepted one of Papyrus’ offered arms, rising unsteadily to their feet. The ground seemed to sway beneath them, and if it weren’t for Papyrus, they might have fallen down again. 

“YOU LOOK PALE, ARE YOU OK?” The volume of their friend’s voice was grating, and Frisk resisted the urge to clap their hands over their ears. 

 

“Papyrus, Alphys,” Asgore seemed to appear by the tall skeleton’s shoulder, his eyes dark and serious. Behind him, Alphys hesitantly approached. Her tail was twitching in worry. 

Asgore seemed to be keeping his voice deliberately lower than usual, something Frisk at that moment immensely appreciated. “I’ll help them sit down. Could you two perhaps go inside and get Frisk a glass of water?” 

 

Papyrus wrung his hands a moment longer, still clearly worried, but Alphys quickly stepped forward. She took Papyrus’ hand, beginning to lead him away. Still, the tall skeleton resisted a moment, searching Frisk’s face as if to ensure to himself that they truly were alright. 

 

Frisk managed a wane smile in his direction, and the skeleton seemed to wilt. He allowed Alphys to lead him, turning to make his way back to the house. He shouted behind him that they would be “right back” with some refreshments. 

 

Frisk was left alone with their father, who slowly brought them over to the tree he had been watching from before. There, Asgore set them down, getting them to sit so that their back was supported by the trunk of the tree. 

It was there was the king seemed to run out of steam, hovering anxiously about Frisk a bit like a duck hovered over their ducklings. 

 

_ I’m ok.  _

Frisk tried to alleviate their dad’s fears, aiming for an optimistic smile. The expression sort of fell flat however as in the next moment they winced. Their stomach seemed determined to do its utmost in ensuring that they weren’t going to be able to keep much down. 

Seeing Frisk’s paleness, the king sat down hesitantly beside them. His paws were lumbering, but they were always gentle, and he stroked his child’s hair until some of the sickness passed and Frisk had the energy to finally ask questions. When they did, their voice was a rusted croak. 

 

“What… what happened?”

Asgore hummed as if to himself, quiet but sure in his answer. 

“Magic Repulsion. It’s when a Monster, or I suppose Human in your case, does not have the same colour of Soul as the Magic they’re trying to recreate, and didn’t succeed in “blending” their power with the other. In this case, your Determination tried to force the blue Magic to bend to its will, instead of working with it to achieve a happy medium. It’s a fairly common problem, in beginner learners. Truthfully, it’s rarer for people to have their Soul and Magic meet up completely, so often you get a few explosions.”

 

Frisk frowned in thought, frustrated. 

In truth, they hadn’t really expected to get the Magic right the first time. Even with their own abilities, when they had been younger there had been a few unplanned RESETS. Yet they didn’t even have a  _ clue  _ as to what they did wrong, and the lingering threat of another dream filled them with anxiety. 

 

Seeming to sense their irritation, Asgore ran a massive paw through their hair. It was a soothing motion, and Frisk’s eyes slid to half-mast as they automatically leaned towards it. A small sound of contentment left their lips, and cat-like they felt sleepiness tugging at their bones. 

 

“Magic takes a lot out of both Humans and Monsters, my child.” Asgore murmured “It is best not to push too far before you are ready.”

“Have to.” Frisk murmured, unable to voice their true fear. That another voice would return, that they wouldn’t be facing the pale blue soul but one as crimson as their own. The very idea filled them with nausea, and despite the paranoia of such thoughts, Frisk couldn’t help but listen to them. Chara was dead, but their memory echoed in their skin and their blood like a parasite, and sometimes there was just no way to make it vanish. 

 

Squeezing their eyes shut tightly, Frisk shoved the negative emotions from their mind. They forced a smile up at their father, trying to reassure him. They patted his arm, stroking small fingers through white fur. 

 

“I’m just… I want to learn, dad. I want this to work. I...” Frisk drifted off, nose scrunching up as they tried to think to phrase how they felt. “I don’t want to hurt anyone… and I’m afraid that if I don’t control it…” Frisk ducked their face downwards then, fists clenching and unclenching in their lap. 

They wanted to be in control.  _ They had to be.  _ Anything less, and the consequences of their past could come into fruition. It was a heavy, terrifying thought that chased them even in their sleep. 

 

The king’s expression was soft, dark eyes staring down at his child. He saw an old expression on Frisk’s face, far too tired to be worn by someone so young. It always seemed like his child wanted to carry the world on their shoulders, and most often they did. They attended every meeting between Humans and Monsters, acting as mediator between them. Frisk also attended school, and did extra curriculars with Monster Kid and other children in their classes. They made crafts and baked and hung out with the older Monsters and even sometimes helped out Grillby at his restaurant, all without complaint. It was as if Frisk never really learned how not to be busy, as if they somehow believed that to take a moment and breathe was a sin in itself. To live such a life at such a young age… truthfully, Asgore did not know how they managed it. 

 

Unable to help himself and wanting to rid his child of their grim countenance, he scooped Frisk up so that they were curled against him, holding them close. Frisk giggled in surprised delight, nuzzling against their father’s chest. Asgore did not speak, but he held Frisk up in the air until they shrieked with joy. He made them laugh and smile, and in return Papyrus laughed and smiled as he came out of the house with a pitcher of water and three cups. Behind him, Alphys was holding up her notes, already babbling about preparing for the next attempt at Magic. 

 

The two Monsters and their dear Human all sat in the long grass outside in Toriel’s backyard and chatted, momentarily dropping the weight of Frisk’s failed attempt behind them. Alphys was determined to look at the whole thing optimistically, and Papyrus tended to be a positive individual to begin with. Asgore seemed just content to hold Frisk and speak of brighter days. 

 

Frisk allowed themselves a moment without worry, looking up at the clouds through the slotted maze of branches above. The sky was the same colour as the Soul they would dream of again that night. 

 

****

 

_ Dark.  _

_ Everything is so… dark. Dark and cold, freezing… _

_ You might have trembled, if you could feel your body. As it was, it felt as if you were floating.  _

_ Distant shouting, a voice you once heard directed at you with affection.  _

 

**_“Asgore, you coward! This is all your fault, if you hadn’t… they wouldn’t have been here! They shouldn’t have been here!”_ **

_ Toriel.  _

_ Safety.  _

_ Wait for her. Yet her voice was drifting in and out, a music box of sadness.  _

_ Don’t cry, please don’t cry.  _

 

_ A deep voice, one you at once recognised and didn’t. It was choked with grief.  _

**_“Tori… Surely you did not think I wanted something of this nature to happen…”_ **

_ Coldness.  _

_ You were fading, dissolving into nothingness. You were being pulled from your body, limp and lifeless and broken. You were no longer you, just a Soul kept tucked away and hidden for later use. Gone was your fear, your loneliness. Gone was the longing to see your brother, your mother and father. All that was left was that waiting feeling, that moment of expectancy you felt before your life was snuffed out like a candle.  _

 

_ You slept, and you dreamed of talking flowers, and waiting for someone in the dark. You dreamed of kings that wept and mothers that screamed for their lost children. You waited.  _

 

**_B u t   n o b o d y   c a m e._ **

 

_ So you wandered, drifting out of this dream and into another. You were no longer the blue Soul, no longer something you did not recognise.  _

 

_ You were Frisk, and you were in a world that seemed to be painted in lines of white and jagged black, endless and yawning. It was a maw that you drifted towards, and yet you were not afraid. You couldn’t be if you tried, the sensation of your emotions in this world strangely detached and numb.  _

 

_ Eventually, you wandered until something corporeal appeared. Rather, you wandered until you came back to the beginning. Back to a simple blue heart, pulsating in the white. As you approached, you could hear it whispering. Its language was unlike any other you had ever known, and yet at the same time, it made perfect sense. Like an overlapping CD player, it spoke of many things. It spoke of nothing. It gave a message, it gave a sound of static and dead air.  _

 

_ You cupped the Soul in your hands, and it spoke to you in a way that drummed through your fingers, into your skull, humming in your back teeth.  _

 

_ W̫͋Ḧ̰͚͙͕̱̦ͬ́ͭͥA̗̳ͥͮͬT͓̦̫̝̃͋ͬ͊͐ ̬͚͉͍̟̘Iͧ͑S͒ ̫͓̏ͥ͛ͭA͇͛ͩ̿͆͗ͦ̔ ̤͖̆̀̐ͩ̾ͫSͧ̾̏̈́̓̌T̲̣͓̼̼͋̿̽̿͋́ͮA̗̳R̠̜̟̘ͤ̊̄ͅ?̘̼̙͇̃̃ͬ͛ͥͥͪ _

 

_ You knew those words, that echoing trail of thought from a Monster you had met in waterfall. Yet this was not the same voice, and it repeated back to you dialogue dully, without life or emotion. Like a tape recorder, moving through your existence.  _

 

_ C̞͚̎̄ͦA̹̜̣̣͕̟̓̔ͅN͐̑̈́̿̋̈̐ ́͐̓̓̓̀́Ÿ̘̘͍͓̭́ͪ̋̀̇̚O͗Ű̟̼͌ͬͮ̀̑ͅ ̏̎ͦ̽̑̋ṰO̦̪͙̪͌ͮͥͅU̙̩̗̫̰͇̩ͣ̅͑̐̓ͩ̚C̹̎ͣH̲̬̲͈̱̺͙̅̉͂ͦ̓ ͖̠͇I͋Tͨ͂ͬ̌ͧ͑͌?̪̈́͛̓̉͑̑̏ _

 

_ A glitching noise, like pixels breaking apart sounded. The voice became warped and slow, sluggish. The Soul in your hand flickered, as if fearful of the shadows that pressed in around you. When had white become darkness? You hadn’t noticed. You felt a chill crawl down your spine, icicles impaling your vertebrae. _

 

_ Ỳ͔O͚̳͐U̗̩͚̠̱̫͍ͪͩ̐͊ ̼͙̫̜͙̓C̭̪ͦͪ̾̂̉̐A͇͕͉̪̜̦̱ͪN͖ͣͪ͋ͭ̄ ͚͚̮̩̺̠̬D͍̮̥̗̰̙O̖̫͎ͥ͆ͩ̒ͨ ̞̖͚̲̼Ȃ̙̘̝̯ͅ ̰͕L͑̊̄͒ͥ͊Í̙̘͚͔̈͋ͬ͑́T̞̏ͦ̈͗̆̍T͈͇͔̲̃̚Lͩ̉E̝̮͎͚͈̝̖ͣ ̺̭̙͙̔͑ͪ͊͑ͨ̆ͅB̈̿̄ͣ̿ͥĚ͖̮̥ͬT̩̪̤ͪ͐̔̆͛Tͨ̄ͭͭ̇E͈̮͙̮̗͂̾ͫ̒̇ͣͣͅR̬̝̼̾ͤ̓,̟͔̲͎́ͮ ̥̒Ě̓ͭͤ̋́V̥͚̓̓ͯ̄ͯ̉ͅE̳͋ͧ̐N̦͈̳̩͋̈̈̅ͯ̂ ̖̺͚̗ͨ̓̐̌̎̀ͅI͖̦̪̥̣͍̙ͧͭ͗͗F͖̜̲̭͈̯̄͛̎̐͋ ͍͎̲̎̒Ỵ͈̤̮̏̐O͓̥̣̬̖͕͇Ǔ̩̲̻̯̳̣̚ ͖̥̳̥̖̩ͪ͐͊̅ͮD̼ͮ̄ͪ̿O̳̰͔̞̼͈ͧ͛ͩN͓ͯ̈́̂'T͙̰̭̜ ̙ͮ̓ͨ̎̽T̗̪̉͐ͨͮͅȞ̗Ĭ̠̜̞̖̈́̽͛Ṉ̻̤̣̟̖ͅǨ͉̘̣͚̳̞̽͌ͧ ̤̫̰̦̔̂̑ͨ́S̟̩̥̣͇̫͒̏͛̇̈́O̯̖̔͗͋̎ͩ̇̆!̗̼͍̼̞ͭ͆ͧͯ _

 

_ No. Not that memory. Anything but that memory. You lashed out instinctively, trying to rid yourself of the echoing mimicry of Papyrus’ last words. The darkness seemed to laugh, twisting and layering itself until it blotted out the blue Soul’s light.  _

 

_ Y̠̲̘͇͉̑ͯ̉̓̍O̟̠U͚̪̖͂̃ ̦͔̬͈̗̹ͧ͌ͧ̌̑ͨ̚Ȕ̥̲̾͐N͇̫͎͉̈ͥ̑ͪͪ̄ͪD͎̉ͭ̅̎ͥ̔̌Eͩͧ̅R̩̗̲̜͍͓̹̅ͮ̅ͧ͋̋̒Ṣ̲̗̎̈́ͅT͚̻A̲̓͊ͩN͐ͧͦͫͭD͔̩̣̤̱̗ͦͤ ̰͇̈̔̈ͭM̮̲̬͎ͫ͌͐ͣE̹̟͖̅̚,̖͎ͥͪ̏̑̎̂͑ ͚̫̯̔ͮͅḎ̟̝Ȏ͈̭̓Ṇ̺̳̟͍͈̏̽͆̂̋̿̚'̭͓̜̠͂Tͣ͋̐̓͌ ̣̯̄ͣ̏ͦ͛ͅY̘̜̞̣̞̹̣ͧͥ́Ŏ̞̽̚Ȗ͉͇̞̄͌̾̄͑ͨ ͉̫̭͎̣͎͉̑͌ͣ̈̈͛̚C̟̺̽͂̅̓H̹̤̪̫̲͖̿A̫̼̲̖͌̇̿̓R̹̻͇͔͕͖̅͐̌Ȁ̯ͫͣ?͎̩̖̬̘͐̅ _

 

_ That was a worse memory. The voice made your breathing speed, and you looked wildly about. Unable to help yourself, you called. Your voice seemed to echo in this place, lost and warping like a stone being tossed into a pool. It bounced back to you, tripping and giggling and screaming at once.  _

**_“A-Asriel?”_ **

 

_ An inhalation of breath by your ear. You turned, only to find grinning darkness wrapping about your limbs, crawling into your mouth and ears and eyes. It swallowed you, drowned out your screams for help.  _

  
  


**_S̎̈́̇ͩ̈́͋̊IN̺̻̳̪̜̯CE͖̮̲̬̩͇̼̓̉ ̟̘̦͍͚̾ͬͦ͋́W͎̽̂H͈̬̱̯̦̲̹̉̎͒Ẻ̼̗̀̆͑ͅN͖̩̙̣͔̭̬ ̯͕̈́̂̐W̪̳̖͔E̫R̺͌̎͂E̘̮̙̲̰̻̹ͪ̃͗ ̃͂ͪͮY̙̥̝ͪ̈ͮ̓ͬ̐͌O̲̞ͬͪͯ̌ͦŨ̑͛̈ͅ ̠̬̞̫̠̗ͯ̉̊̅̋ͣ̅T̯̪̦̱͉̫̔̐̈̆̋́H̠̥̝̱̳͓̹E͍͙͎̻͔̩ͯ͊ ̅̇ͮŌ̫̟̟̃ͬ̔ͥͯN̠͇̩͕͇̈́͗͆E ͧI̫͎͖̯̭͊ͮ̆̓N͙̈́̔̑ͮͅ ͓͓̅C͚͖͉͕O̖͈̻͑ͯͫN͔̔T͍̬͉̯̣͕̺̈ͫͫ̇̚R͖̖̝̖̹͑̍ͨ͗͌̔̚O̱̦͙̦̼̭ͪ̂̎͗͒L̲̠̰?̞ͦͣ̓͆_ **

 

_ A hand wrapped itself about your own, pulling you out of the inky black.  _

 

Frisk woke with a yelp that they only just managed to stifle with the palm of their hand, and nearly fell out of their bed. They curled themselves tightly against their mattress, shaking and trying to breathe. How they dreamed of events they had not been around for, they didn’t know. 

 

****

Toriel asked their child for the thousandth time that morning if they were sure they were alright. 

 

Frisk insisted on going to school the next day, despite the fact that their dreams had left them more exhausted than anything else. The mystery behind them made their insides twist, and the echoing and wretched cry of their mother made them want to avoid sleep for the rest of their life. They feared asking if what they dreamed was a memory or an illusion, because either way it was a terrifying notion.

 

Frisk had to go to school, had to get away from their parents for now. They needed to erase the crawling of their own skin. They cited the fact that they didn’t want to get left too far behind their classmates, and though Toriel and Asgore both looked concerned, they’d reluctantly agreed. 

 

The change of pace was good for them, Frisk always did better when they had something to do. They woke bright and early despite their dreams, brushed their teeth and combed their hair. They wore their favourite tutu for good luck and a light purple sweater. Frisk even made sure to pack a good lunch, one that wasn’t boring. They cut the apple slices into star-shapes, hoping the extra effort would somehow make the day less painful. 

 

As usual, they waited for Sans to come and walk them to school. Since the Monsters had been freed, the shorter of the skeleton brothers had taken up a number of odd and not-necessarily paying jobs. One of such, due to Toriel’s request, was walking Frisk to the gates of their school. It was more of an extended chat with a friend, and truthfully, Frisk had grown to enjoy the morning routine. 

They were anxious for it to be underway this morning, however, since they hadn’t heard from Sans for quite a few days. Normally, he was good about communication, if a bit lax about dates and times. Yet Frisk had dealt with radio silence as of late, and it concerned them. 

 

Feeling as though they were waiting on pins and needles, Frisk only sighed in relief upon spotting their skeletal friend approaching. Sans grinned at them in his usual, tired way. His greeting was a little lackluster, but the small hug he gave Frisk was genuine. 

“Heya kiddo, ready to go?” 

 

Frisk nodded, reaching out to take Sans’ hand. The skeleton was almost the perfect height in some ways, his strides weren’t as long-legged as Papyrus’ or Undyne’s. As a result, the two of them could keep an even pace as they walked. They made their way down the sidewalk side by side, Frisk humming occasionally and pointing out something of interest they saw. Sans was a good listener, and he often contributed to the conversation by making a bad pun or two, or even correcting a fact Frisk gave. 

At least, that was his usual mannerisms. Today, everything seemed rather strained. They tried to remind themselves that it wasn’t necessarily their fault. Somehow, it didn’t comfort Frisk much. 

 

“So, I heard Papyrus knocked you around yesterday.” 

Sans’ voice was deliberately neutral, and Frisk after a moment nodded. The skeleton chuckled a bit, deep voice amused in spite of himself. “Tibia honest, I just might have to go to the next training session. I loathe exercise, but seeing Papyrus attack anything, even for fun, is a rare sight.”

Frisk didn’t voice aloud that they knew this fact, instead smiling slightly. Using their free hand, they signed at the Monster.

_ He’s really powerful. I forget that sometimes, but I could feel it… Papyrus is strong.  _

 

“Yeah, Magic-wise we both are. You never saw it, but during sparring, it comes out. My brother’s actually really powerful.” Sans admitted, as usual dropping his front that he kept of not knowing about alternate timelines around Frisk. “Paps is a better teacher out of the two of us, too. He’s always gentle, especially around kids. If he can fight  _ me  _ without accidentally damaging my weak health, then you shouldn’t get too hurt.”

“His Magic’s hard, though.” Frisk complained despite themselves. “He told me to attack, but when I did, I was just flung across the yard.”

 

Sans laughed a bit, his voice warm. 

“That’s because when you think of an attack, you think of striking out. Paps’ Magic is subtle that way. You’re not thinking of it properly. To _ Papyrus, _ what is an attack?”

Frisk considered carefully, biting their lip. All of the times that they had fought the younger of the skeleton brothers, it had been an exercise of just dodging and hoping for the best. Yet there had always been a sense that Papyrus hadn’t really wanted to fight. He had given them every opportunity realistically not to, and would eventually even give up on trying to capture them so long as they stayed determined. Yet “Determination”, the source of their own Magic, was not the solution to this puzzle. It was a factor, as Frisk’s Magic was a factor…But it had to be turned into Patience, and Frisk wasn’t sure how to go about doing such a thing. 

 

Sans winced at the seriousness clouding their face. 

“Geez, kid. Keep that up and you’ll have smoke coming out of your ears. Look, if Paps is teaching you, you’ll get it. You’re both dead-stubborn that way.”

The white pinpricks of his eyes had softened as they did when thinking of Papyrus. He stared out in front of them, lost in memories like he was wandering through familiar fog. “Skeletons… we’re a rare enough group, but the ones I’ve known have all been very… strong. Strong but… unconventional. The trick to most of our abilities isn’t straightforward. It’s a puzzle, or a game.”

 

_ There were others? _

Frisk signed, curious despite themselves. Sans seemed to startle out of his daze, blinking slowly as he looked down at them. Something in his smile was darkly funny as he sighed through his teeth. 

“Not really. It’s… a long story, kid. One that’s better left in the past, yeah?”

They fell into silence together, Frisk unwilling to pry yet curious nonetheless. Sans so often built walls about his past, about himself. They were many-layered, and often stronger than bone. 

Frisk had managed to slip through a few of them, just due to circumstance, but this was a reminder that not even they could maneuver through them all. There were simply too many, and they shifted and moved like Sans’ blasters. 

They wondered sometimes just how many there were. When the curiosity got to be too much, Frisk would imagine what it’d be like if Sans’ pried about Chara, about their own nightmares. They kept their silence despite their worry, nails digging into their palms in perfect half-crescents. 

  
As if he were thanking them for their quiet, Sans changed the topic to something a bit more digestible. His voice, quiet and calming spoke of childish antics between him and his brother, and of nights when Snowdin paid homage to its namesake, white powdery drifts falling from the Mountain’s enclosure. He did not ask why Frisk seemed tired, and he did not press when Frisk flinched away from their own reflection in a store’s window. 


	5. Call Our Names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is where things begin to really kick off. I hope you enjoy the read ^_^
> 
> Next chapter will have some Undyne, as well as some cool Magic battles~~

 

 

Frisk was getting very, very good at falling properly. That at least, was one semi-decent thing that came out of their training lessons. They learned to land in such a way that wouldn’t give them too many bruises, if only because Toriel’s healing Magic took up time and energy.

A week went by, and Frisk was frustrated to find that despite their Determination, they were no closer to achieving Blue Magic.

 

It was disheartening, if only because all of their friends seemed to have such an impossible amount of faith in Frisk’s abilities. There was no doubt in any of their family’s minds that they might fail, and in truth it was making Frisk anxious. To Toriel, to Asgore and Undyne and Alphys and Papyrus, to all of them, they had never made a mistake. They could not remember the RESETS, or the lives lost in the process of achieving a perfect “Happy Ending”.

Only Sans seemed apprehensive, and in a way his worry was welcome. At least someone didn’t look at them like they were capable of moving an entire mountain all on their own if they only tried.

 

However Sans in himself was another issue that was making Frisk worried. The skeleton was the kind of Monster that tended to be secretive to begin with, but as of late he had become a wall. This normally wouldn’t have been a long-term problem, but the truth of the matter was that Frisk was still sleepwalking and having dreams.

So far, they hadn’t managed to wander more than just outside their room before Toriel or Asgore had caught them, directing them back to bed (Asgore was now becoming a regular residence to the household, much to Toriel’s mixed feelings).

Yet everyone was secretly waiting for what might happen if Firsk managed to evade their family and escape outside. The last time, they had wandered to the edge of the city, glowing blue all the while.

 

They mulled over the matter, even as they once again got back to their feet. Papyrus had stopped being quite so concerned when he knocked them down, but still Frisk signed that they were alright but that they wanted a break.

The tall skeleton gave them a thumbs-up, seemingly relieved to no longer have to fight their favourite Human. It was wearing on them, despite Papyrus’ constant good mood, he really did seem to hate confrontation of any kind.

 

Frisk sucked at a small cut between their forefinger and thumb, tasting copper. They had to get this right, they _needed_ to. They couldn’t afford to waste more time, something in the back of their mind screaming that if they did not master their Magic, something terrible would befall everyone.

That paranoia, ever-growing and a weight on Frisk’s shoulders, was another side-effect of the nightmares.

 

They had yet to tell Toriel. Admittedly, it was probably for the best. The queen had taken to nervously fussing to begin with. If she knew just how deeply invested in this Frisk had become, she might try to force their child to stop school or other things that might increase their “stress”. The thought made Frisk’s nails dig into their palms, an old anxiousness humming inside of them.

No, that couldn’t happen. They wouldn’t _let_ it. The idea of giving up something that they had only dreamed of once, had only imagined in another lifetime, filled them with fear.

 

It felt like they were losing themselves, piece by piece, with this newfound power. Frisk was scrambling to pick up shards, trying to maintain their life of calm and peace. They had worked too _hard_ for it, they couldn’t let it go… could they?

It was a thought that made their stomach twist itself into knots. Standing in their backyard, Frisk bit their lip to keep themselves from shivering.

 

This was their happy ending, this was _it_ for them. To lose it, to lose their mom and dad and their _family,_ would mean to lose themselves.

 

****

_...isk…_

_Frisk…_

 

“Frisk!”

Frisk jumped, knocked out of their musings by a familiar voice. Sheepishly, they looked over to the next desk beside them. Monster Kid’s (M.K to most) friendly face peered at them curiously. It was clear that he had been calling their name a few times, as an expression of vague concern alighted his reptilian eyes.

 

That face smoothed into amusement when Frisk flushed a little, offering them a small smile of apology. M.K’s snout crinkled in a laugh, his pointed teeth sticking out in a way that at this point Frisk found not the least bit threatening.

“Geez, you were really out of it, weren’t you? You totally had this spaced out face!” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Thinkin’ about someone special?”

The idea was almost laughable, given the recent events in Frisk’s life. Also gross, because they were like, only thirteen!

They snorted, giving M.K an unimpressed look through the fan of their hair. M.K chortled, yellow tail wagging out of the back of their seat. It was too long to sit comfortably in the fully-backed chairs that some of the other students used.  

 

It was lunch time, and the entire classroom was amidst a swarm of  bird-like chatter. Frisk’s class all knew each other well, and had their own little cliques and groups with which they hung out to eat with. Frisk’s own group included M.K, a one-eyed Monster named Fera, and a gelatinous Monster named Helios.

 

It was Helios who spoke up next, chewing around a mouthful of Monster food that truthfully looked a bit like glittery rocks to Frisk’s eye. When she ate, one could see the food disintegrate into her jello-like membrane, tinted pink with the colour of her flesh. Helios spoke in a low voice, quiet but with a dry sense of humour that Frisk appreciated.

“M.K’s just jealous you weren’t listening to his _riveting_ talk about Papyrus.”

The armless Monster flushed at Helios’ words, levelling her with a small glare of indignation.

“I’m _not_ jealous,” He muttered, although his cheeks were definitely heated. He pouted, looking at Frisk and pleading his case. “I just think that Papyrus is so _cool,_ y’know? Like… he tries so hard to do the right thing and he’s just… _brave._ He’s amazing!”

 

Frisk giggled at M.K’s earnesty. The Monster was obsessing over one Monster or another every week, and changed favourites with the turning of the tide. Still he was equally passionate about all of his “heroes”, and thought it was both astounding and deeply unfair that most of Frisk’s family were so “badass”.

Frisk reached for half of their sandwich, giving it to M.K to appease some of his hurt pride. In the process, the sleeve of their red sweater rode up a touch. It revealed a spattering of bruises, earned from their frequent rounds with the backyard lawn.

M.K’s eyes widened at the sight of them, and both Helios and Fera straightened when they saw where his eyes were glued. Frisk bit back a small curse to themselves.

“Hey, where’d you get those bruises?”

 

Their friend’s voice was concerned, but the concern quickly melted to awe as Frisk hesitantly explained. Well, explained as best as they could.

“I’m learning Magic. Papyrus, actually, is teaching me. I’m… failing a bit.”

Fera gasped in approval, and Helios made a sound of amusement at the idea of Frisk being thrown about in “training battles”. M.K just looked starstruck.

“What! No way! That’s so freaking _cool!_ You get to train with _Papyrus?_ Aw man, you’re gonna have so many cool powers and stuff! Why do you always get to do really neat things like be trained by ex-members of the royal guard?!”

 

He was clearly jealous, and Frisk had to bite back a laugh as their friend dramatically put his head to his desk. They reached out to pat his scaly side in commiseration, admitting that they were really just getting beaten up, rather than learning.

“I can’t keep control of it, I keep backfiring and flying back. It’s pretty embarrassing, really. I’ve known Monster _children_ with better Magic than mine.”

“My brother was like that,” Fera snickered. “He kept blowing up parts of the house for the first little while when learning. Dad honestly thought he’d be hopeless until he got it!”

 

“It’s so hard; though!” Frisk groaned loudly. They buried their head in their arms, voice muffled and annoyed. “I keep trying and trying and _trying_ to understand, but I don’t! Every time my Soul tries to turn “blue” it just… rejects?”

They made a face at the inadequacy of the description, but Frisk saw that their friends were nodding as if they understood. It occurred to them that in all likelihood, Magic Training hadn’t been that long ago for the likes of them.

 

Fera hummed to himself, his rounded eye seeming to be deep in thought. He looked at Frisk in consideration, his voice slow as if he were still mulling a thought over.

“Papyrus’ Magic comes from Patience, right?” He asked.

Frisk nodded, expression clearly unhappy.

“...Yeah?” They asked, seeming confused as to where the conversation was headed. Fera blinked, tilting their head to the side. He tapped clawed fingers against his desk as he spoke.

“So… maybe the answer isn’t _trying.”_

 

“Dude, what do you even mean?” M.K piped up, seeming as lost as Frisk felt.

Fera shrugged, seeming to struggle with his words and how to explain.

“Well… it’s like… waiting for a cake to bake!” He exclaimed, spreading his hands wide “You have to put it in an oven, and you have to wait and watch it… too little and it’s still raw, too much and it burns.”  “You need to wait until the Magic’s ready for you, and don’t try to force it,” He swiveled his bright blue eye to Frisk, mouth twisted in a facsimile of a smile. “Does… does that make any sense? Oh dear…” He murmured at the look of confusion on his friend’s face, seeming to shrink into his desk.

Frisk was quick to assuage their friend’s nerves, sensing the impending anxiety attack and wanting to nip it in the bud.

“It makes sense, I just… don’t know how to do it in practice,” They flicked their gaze towards their desk, brow scrunched in consideration. “I… I keep feeling like I’m running on a timed schedule.” Frisk’s voice was quiet, and they didn’t state aloud the other half of that sentence. _I don’t want to find out what happens if I don’t make it in time._

 

They felt M.K’s tail nudge the side of their chair comfortingly, his smile reassuring and positive.

“Hey, don’t feel too bad. You have all the time in the world, Frisk. Most Monsters take at _least_ a decade to get things, and you’re like, the “ _saviour of Monsterkind”._ You’ll get it.” 

Despite their worry, Frisk felt their fears temporarily eased by the sight of their friends surrounding them. If it came down to it, they would do anything to protect those that they loved, and they did love M.K and Helios and Fera very much. They hoped they knew that, but words did not come easily, and verbalized affection even less so.

Actions were so much easier to express.

 

It was at that moment that Frisk looked up, past their friends and their smiles. What they saw caused their stomach to drop, an icy dread seep into their veins. In the corner of the classroom, watching them with large, dark eyes was a shadow. The rest of the class paid them no mind, continuing to eat their lunches and chatter away. Yet there was something eerily familiar about the figure, and something dead in their expression. The ribbon in her hair moved with a breeze that did not exist, as did the hem of her worn and ragged dress. Her skin was chalky, a milky shade of blue that in some lights seemed transparent.

She did not speak as she stared at Frisk, but her arm slowly lifted. It was with utmost certainty that the girl pointed her hand towards the exit of the classroom, as if giving Frisk directions. There was a weight in her stare, as if challenging Frisk to ignore her existence. Something pulled in their soul as they looked at the girl, and Frisk suddenly knew with a quiet kind of certainty that whoever this was, they had something important to show them.

 

Frisk felt their heart begin to pound in their throat. A cold sweat was building on the back of their neck. It was abruptly that they rose, muttering a poor excuse to their friends. As they rose, they asked the teacher (a soft blue Monster that looked a bit like a teddy bear named Mr. Dorin) if they could go to the washroom.

 

The Monster had barely given them permission before Frisk was out the door.

 

****

The first time Papyrus had ever set the house on fire from his cooking, Sans had been unprepared. It had been when the two of them were fairly young Monsters, and at the time the image of black, oily smoke spilling out into the kitchen had sent the older skeleton into a panic. He hadn't expected it, caught off guard by his brother’s enthusiasm. Papyrus hadn’t had a single fear in the world, laughing the entire time, completely unconcerned with the destruction. His Soul had burned like an orange candle, a lion roaring in the face of fear.

 

Now, the occasional fire was practically commonplace. The smell of smoke barely roused Sans from his sleep any longer. So, when he opened his eyes to the familiar flavour of burnt, he at first didn’t take it as anything too worrisome. He slowly sat up from his slumped over position, blinking and rubbing at the ridge of his browbone until the haze of sleep faded. He had been dreaming of strange things, snowy mornings and cold and desolate landscapes. They had turned into puzzles, tiled floors and electric lasers he’d had to dodge. It had been a right mess.

He glanced upstairs, guessing where the smell was coming from. He sighed to himself, noting that despite his brother’s awesomeness, he still had yet to understand the concept of consistent cooking temperatures.

“Papyrus? Do you need me to get the fire extinguisher?” Sans shouted, the house small enough that he knew his brother would likely hear him.

 

Silence however answered, unusual in itself. The permanent smile on Sans’ face shrank minutely as he leaned back in his chair, glancing up the stairs with the beginnings of worry in the back of his mind. Call him irrational, but he tended towards the side of vigilance when it came to out of the ordinary events. Papyrus never ignored him if he could hear him, and the younger of the skeleton brother’s had surprisingly good hearing.

 

“Pap?” He tried again, already rising from his seat. Sans began to make his way up the steps, the familiar third wooden board creaking under his slippered foot. “Papyrus, bro? Are you there? Where-” He came up to the door, phalanges reaching for the silver doorknob. When Sans’ fingers wrapped about it, he felt a jolt of something freezing, deep in his core.

 

He didn’t turn the handle, yet the door was suddenly flung open. Sans stumbled forward, his breath taken from him as he was thrown not into his house, but pitch black darkness. Sans found himself staring into a familiar void, one that he had in many ways thought only appeared in the realm of dreams. A black space of absence, crackling with static that made his head hurt and his bones rattle in pain.

 

He drew in a desperate breath, disoriented and confused. Sans whipped about, searching for the basement door. Yet the darkness stretched out behind him as well, all traces of an exit have been erased. His Soul thrummed with the _wrongness_ of this space, how everything seemed flat and blank, somehow not quite real.

 

**S̼̦̮̦̥̰̝̈ͧ̈ͪ̑A̤ͅN͚̝̪͚͇̝̿̆ͫ̀͊̈̚Sͪͤͫͥͨ̋͊**

 

A voice rang out, whispering in the darkness. It was achingly familiar. Sans gasped at the sound of it, how it drilled into his skull and rippled across his body. He clutched at his head, his eye glowing piercing blue as he looked around.

A name hovered on his lips, desperate to be spoken. He knew of only one person who could build a space like this and he _shouldn’t have existed._

 

Before he could speak, the darkness seemed to shudder, glitch in time. Folding in on itself, it suddenly snapped to white. Sans blinked, and in the span of that movement, he found himself back in his house, standing in the frame of the basement door.

 

His brother was standing in the kitchen, burning spaghetti cheerfully. Everything seemed suddenly solid and real, dimensional in a way that it hadn’t before. Sans could suddenly smell burnt again, could feel the warm air of the house on his bones. Colours were vivid and shining, almost painful to look at. He could feel the quivering of his Soul, twitching inside of him like the fluttering wings of a bird.

_What had just… happened?_

 

Sans must have made some kind of noise, a laugh or a yelp, because Papyrus turned somewhat sheepishly about. The tall skeleton was surrounded by the beginnings of a smoking wreckage. It seemed to have a source, a blackened pot that had born the abuse of many fires beforehand. The skeleton was wearing a gaudy pink apron that Frisk had gotten them, white lettering cheerily inquiring ‘ _What’s Cooking?’_ across the middle.

“BROTHER, I SEEM TO HAVE ACCIDENTALLY SET FIRE TO THE-”

 

Papyrus broke off at the expression on Sans’ face, clouded and lost. It was as if his older brother was not entirely certain of his surroundings. He peered closely at Sans, spaghetti temporarily forgotten. It was replaced instead with confusion and worry. Papyrus moved from the kitchen, coming around to the living room to see if his brother was alright. He was stopped short by the pale lines that seemed to have been carved into the hardwood at his brother’s feet, vivid and sharply etched.

 

The symbols were at once foreign and familiar, and something about them made Papyrus’ head hurt if he looked at them for too long. Like an echo of a dream, they seemed vaguely menacing. The tall skeleton thought to himself that he did not like his brother’s decorative decision.

“SANS, IS THAT SOME KIND OF EXPERIMENT OF YOURS? IF SO BROTHER, I DO NOT THINK IT WOULD BE WISE TO MARK UP PARTS OF THE HOUSE WITH IT.”

Sans seemed to blink his way slowly back to reality. The Magic in his eye faded, and he slowly came back to himself in increments. He stared up at Papyrus, uncertain as to what his brother meant until he followed his gaze.

 

Seeing the marks grooved into the floor, Sans’ expression abruptly darkened. Papyrus watched as a mix of fear and confusion filled his brother’s face, the Wingdings only legible to the older of the two brothers. What was written was a plea, a warning that made Sans want nothing more in that moment than to take his brother and run as far and as fast as he could.

 

**B̰̯̩͈̙̿̓͐͛̆́E̱̝̟̣̰̿͌͑̇̋W̮̑̊̅Ḁ̟̦̘̄͌R͔̭̞̰̟̤͋ͥ̑̿È̺̰̰̙̣̔ͫ̋̒̾̊ ̥̤̟͆ͭͫ̅ͩT͖̝̲͚̒̅̇Ȟ̪͍̼̭͈͌̏ͪ͊̈E̦̗̜̰ͤ̐̈̏̐ ̗̥͔̞͋̆̏͆A̘̠̝N̰͎͇̼ͮͦͯͥͧ͗Ő̟̮̲̺̹̳̯M̻̝͕̮͙̍̒ͥ͐ͣ̅̐ͅẢ̙̫̟͍̩ͤ̓̿ͤͫͭL͊̏̇̏̿Ȳ̩͕̹ͅ.**

 

****

Frisk found that once they wandered out of their classroom, the mysterious girl seemed to appear to guide them further. They were lead down the halls, out the school doors, and along a beaten path that was more lawn than pavement. Under ordinary circumstances, Frisk would be worried, but something in their Soul seemed to ache at the sight of their ghost-like guide.

They did not sense anything menacing coming off of the girl, merely a kind of urgency. It was as if she was trying to communicate, and yet was unable to speak. She never drifted more than a few feet from Frisk’s side, and though she flickered like a shade, she never fully disappeared.

 

Together, they found themselves three blocks from the school, at the lonely swingset of a park. Frisk looked about, feeling uneasy about the starkness of the area. There was no other soul in sight, Monster or Human, and the air had developed a chill. They resisted the urge to shiver, stomping their shoes against the pavement. Frisk thought for a moment about how the teacher had probably discovered at this point that they’d disappeared. They bit their lip, imagining their mother’s worry.

Maybe… this hadn’t been such a good idea.

 

The ghost didn’t seem to register Frisk’s distress, or perhaps it was just unimportant to her. She instead drifted past the swings, floating above the sandpit and over to the simple fountain at the park’s centre. There she waited, turning to look at Frisk expectantly. She did not speak, yet once again she pointed towards the fountain’s surface, towards the splashing water that bubbled noisily. Frisk licked their lips, peering up at the ghost. They sighed when it was clear the girl wasn’t vanishing, that this had been her destination all along.

After a moment longer of hesitance, Frisk wandered forward, bracing their arms against the lip of the fountain to nudge themselves up and over. Balancing on the ledge, they peered into the water, noting without much surprise that the girl cast no reflection.

 

Frisk peered into the surface of the water, blinking in confusion. It looked like a regular old fountain, complete with a few stray coins and some garbage floating in its bottom. Nothing out of the ordinary caught their eye. They almost thought that they had been lead on a wild goose-chase, and slumped in defeat. Toriel would get mad at them for nothing.

A voice, whisper-thin and high, drifted in Frisk’s ears.

**_“I can speak to you, when you’re near water.”_ **

 

Nearly jumping out of their skin, Frisk whipped their head to look up at the girl. She hadn’t moved from her floating position above, but now she looked down at Frisk, something haunted in her expression and world-weary. It was an old face, for someone who didn’t seem to be that much older than Frisk themselves.

_Why?_

They signed, for a moment wondering if the ghost might understand. It appeared she did, because the girl blinked and shrugged, her airy voice nearly soundless. Nonexistent.

 

**_“We are more real around the things we once loved. Once upon a time… I enjoyed swimming. Water. The ocean. Once… I was alive.”_ **

 

She spoke with no conviction, her voice merely stating a fact with flat diction.

Frisk resisted the urge to shudder, something deeply unsettling about the emotionless tone. They signed rapidly, speaking up at the ghost.

_Are you the one who’s been appearing in my dreams, then? What do you want from me?_

They wanted to help, if they could. There was a loneliness about the girl, the sort of which reminded Frisk rather painfully of Asriel.

The ghost hummed, the sound barely a breath of air. They kicked their feet, picking at a ragged hem on the cuff of her coat as if in deep thought.

**_“We want nothing from you. We come to those who call, and you have called forth so many names, so many times. Across timelines. Across death itself, you have called us. So, we have come.”_ **

 

Frisk felt an inkling of realisation then, the ghost’s words ringing a bell of a memory in the back of their minds. Excitedly, they signed.

_Are you… You’re one of the seven Souls, aren’t you? One of the ones that Asgore-_

They didn’t get to finish their sentence, because the ghost suddenly flickered as if they’d been shot. Their face, normally so passive, became twisted and furious.

**_“YOU WILL NOT SPEAK THEIR NAME.”_ **

They roared, and in that moment, other voices layered atop the girl’s, so that they sounded less like one person and more like something timeless and ancient and powerful.

 

Frisk cringed away from the great noise, quickly signing apologies and platitudes. The wind howled around them a moment longer, before the ghost seemed to shrink into herself. She became detached once more, her eyes remote and cold as she spoke again.

**_“We came because you called, and we linger because you continue to call.”_ **

 

_I’m not calling though. At least, not intentionally._

 

The ghost seemed to sigh to themselves.

 **_“You call in frantic haste, not wanting to be alone. Yet you do not see that you are surrounded by us, that you live with so many Souls drawn towards you both seen, and unseen.”_ ** She fixed Frisk with her dead gaze then, the dark circles under her eyes like saucers.

**_“Your Soul cries out, calling because it knows the danger you do not see. Yet to master my Magic, you mustn’t fear waiting.”_ **

_Danger?_ Frisk signed, confused.

 

Yet the ghost did not seem to be listening any longer. With the mention of Asgore, their form had begun to gutter like a candle, spilling into the daylight and melting away. The girl’s eyes slid shut, and faintly her body began to glow a pale blue. They spoke again, but their voice was far away, seeming to drift back and forth across time itself.

**_“We seek a new Host, we seek a new Master. Seek out the Man Who Speaks In Hands, Seek out   G a s t e r.”_ **

“Wait-” Frisk spoke aloud, desperate not to have the shadow disappear on them. It was too late, their hand stretched out, only to feel a wisp of coolness on their skin. They cursed, alone and left only with a fountain and a mountain of questions they did not have the answers to.

 

Out of the corner of their eye, Frisk thought they saw their reflection warp with a twisted grin. Yet when they turned towards it, all that remained were their own features, afraid and thoroughly their own.

The fountain bubbled quietly.

 

****

Terror was a peculiar thing. It made time seem to at once slow and speed up, and had a way of making even the most insignificant detail burn in one’s mind, like an imprint upon the Soul.

Sans knew fear, knew it better than any lover, any sibling. He knew what it feel like to have panic coursing through his nonexistent veins, knew how it made his head ache and his teeth grit until they felt like they might shatter in his skull.

 

He briefly reflected upon how it felt the same no matter the timeline, even as he whipped out his phone, finding Toriel’s number first try. His brother still stood before him, looking confused and distressed, but Sans didn’t have time to explain. He held the phone up to his head, listening to it ring out and feeling encroaching panic each time it started over again. He didn’t even realise he was speaking aloud, not until Papyrus interrupted his frantic stream of _“Pick up, pick up, c’mon please pick up”._

 

“SANS,” Papyrus’ voice was good at cutting through panic, it was something that Sans often found himself grateful for. He looked towards his brother, blinking through the haze. He kept seeing the Judgement Hall, and his hands covered in _blood-_

“BROTHER, DO YOU NEED TO SIT DOWN?”

It was perhaps then that Sans recognised the fact that he was hyperventilating, despite the fact that breathing was an automatic but useless feature of his body. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, firmly dispelling the nightmares of his own mind.

 

When he opened them, he addressed Papyrus with a voice both low and grim.

“We need get to Frisk, as quickly as possible. This Magic… what they’re dabbling with... Someone’s trying to warn them it’s dangerous.”

“WHO IS WARNING THEM?” Papyrus questioned aloud.

“Someone I still trust, even if he’s a bastard.” Sans muttered to himself, hardly realising that his brother could hear him. He thought he heard Papyrus ask another question, but it had an answer that thankfully, Sans didn’t have to reveal.

At that moment, Toriel’s phone picked up. Before Sans could utter a word, the queen’s spoke into the speaker. Her voice was tightly strung with distress.

“Oh dear, Sans! It’s _Frisk!”_ The skeleton felt frozen. _No._ “They’re gone!” Toriel all but wailed “M.K’s parents called me, and they told me that their child told them that they went to the washroom and then never came back… The teacher thought they must have gone to the nurse… Sans what if they fell asleep?”

 

Improbable. Sans was already pulling on his Magic, beginning to gather enough to make a shortcut. He knew Frisk’s Soul like his own, he had fought it and cared for it in enough timelines that finding it was no problem at all. All he had to do was think of a red glow, and it was like they were already in the room with him.

 

At the last moment, he reached out for Papyrus’ arm, grabbing his brother and drawing him near.

His voice was a growl as he spoke into the phone, imagining a grinning smile, and a knife coated in dust.

“I’ll find them,” He breathed, a weight settling upon his shoulders both familiar and unwanted. Sans hated himself in that moment, but if the situation was as dire as he suspected, he couldn’t bring himself not to ask. “Tori, I need you to do something for me, yeah?” Making sure the queen was listening, Sans spoke clearly into the speaker. “Call Undyne, call Alphys. Warn anyone else you have the number for. Get them to come over to yours. If Frisk comes to the door, _do not_ answer.”

 _“What?_ Sans-”

“Please; Toriel,” He used her full name, his voice ragged and finally cracking under the pressure. He was already warping, jumping through time with Papyrus at his side. His brother was safer, if he was with him. He wouldn’t let him out of his sight. “I’ll explain after. I need you to listen to me.”

 

He didn’t get to hear Toriel’s response. Sans blinked, and time _ripped_ itself open, just wide enough that he and his brother could slip through. They popped together from existence, leaving behind only an empty house, and a stove that was still burning the food that sat upon its stovetop.

 

****

Frisk sat cross-legged at the lip of the fountain, breathing deeply with their eyes closed. They had forgotten their last class, and had long discarded the idea of returning home immediately. Toriel would already be worried, and it wouldn’t hurt at this point to spare a few minutes to test a theory.

 

The ghost’s words lingered in their mind, and with them the words of their friends.

_What is an attack, to Papyrus?_

_Maybe the point is to wait?_

_We come when we are called._

 

Patience, waiting and calling on a name that they didn’t know. Frisk found the idea complicated, but not so complicated that they were not unwilling to try. So here they were, sitting in a deserted park, trying in vain to call upon a person they did not know. They had been sitting still for so long, that their limbs were beginning to ache from sitting. The lip of the fountain was cold on their behind, and they were sure the sun was beginning to set. School was definitely over by now.

Frisk licked their lips, their expression set into mulish stubbornness and once more, they called out their Soul.

 

The flickering, cartoonish heart glowed before them, pulsating cheerful red. It seemed to be waiting expectantly in the cool air, thrumming in anticipation of a battle in which they could FIGHT or enact MERCY. Frisk did neither, no enemy in sight to face. They instead reached out, plucking at the red threads of Magic surrounding it with fond affection. Recognising its Host, the Soul seemed to lean towards them, warm and welcoming.

 

Frisk squinted, trying to make a feeling of calling outwards to manifest. As if listening, their Soul pulsed a little bit brighter, like a beacon awaiting an oncoming ship. Instead of forcing themselves to be something they weren’t, Frisk merely waited, allowing their Determination to flow out into the air. Their eyes slipped shut, something intimately soothing about the action. No fighting, just waiting and breathing deeply, in and out. They almost felt like they could sleep, if it weren’t for the fact that they were open, completely vulnerable. For the first time, they stopped trying to cling to their Soul, and instead tentatively released it, letting it float on its own. It was much the same feeling as a mother might have when letting go of their child’s hand on a road for the first time, frightening and loving.

 

There was a long lull, a seemingly endless stretch of nothing. It dragged out slow and sticky, like molasses trailing from a silver spoon. Sugary and slow, Frisk’s Magic clung to them like cough syrup, strangely numbing.

A coolness began to seep into their bones, familiar and at once foreign.

 _“We come when you call our names.”_ A soft, wisping voice murmured in their ear. Frisk didn’t so much as twitch, afraid that they might scare the ghost girl away. Their thoughts instead asked the question, their Soul hovering in the air, cupped between both Frisk’s fingers and those of another’s.

_What’s your name?_

 

The child breathed, and perhaps it was a laugh. The girl sounded so much more real, corporeal for a moment as she _slid_ into Frisk’s body, touching their Soul.

_“Marie. I was once called… M a r i e.”_

 

Frisk opened their eyes, and they watched as their Soul began to bleed another colour. Light Blue.

  
At the same moment, the sound of a dimension tearing open under frantic, skeletal hands sounded.


	6. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of papyrus in this chapter, as well as some Undyne and Sans ^.^ The fish-wife will be making more appearances in the chapters to come~
> 
> EDIT: I always forget to mention this, but I do in fact have a tumblr where you can track my updates if you would like~
> 
> http://twistedthicket1.tumblr.com/

 

 

Few things scared Sans more than Humans with Magic. Call it a deeply ingrained prejudice, he figured given his history, he was allowed some.

The void was a blink of darkness, his nonexistent stomach flipping in a familiar way that he had come to associate with hopping through space and time. Beside him, his brother wheezed, dragged along by the collar of his scarf. Sans thought to himself that he’d have to apologize to Papyrus later, for choking him.

 

As it stood right now, he was more focused on the immediate threat. He tore his way towards Frisk’s Soul, opening a hole in the inky blackness to find himself in a park. He recognised it, the slides and play structure memorable as being not too far from Frisk’s school. The landing was rough, he all but rolled back into reality, and Papyrus stumbled in an attempt to reorganize his long limbs back into working order.

Sans’s was drawn to the park’s centre, where the sight of Frisk made the static-filled panic in his mind only thrum more loudly. He swore aloud at the sight that greeted him.

 

The air around the park seemed to be drawn into a vacuum, and in its centre Frisk’s small form floated. The floating was by far, not the most horrifying aspect. Sans could have probably handled sudden levitation if that were the only factor. The kid’s eyes were open, but they glowed light blue, vacant and reminiscent of their sleepwalking. That same light made a carefully-contained whirlwind about them, stirring up their hair and the edges of their sweater. Frisk’s face was tilted in Sans’ and Papyrus’ direction, as if they had heard them appear. There was an otherworldly, un-Frisklike expression on their face, as if they were looking at them through the blurred eyepiece of an unfocused microscope.

They lifted a hand, and Sans reacted unthinkingly

 

He grabbed at Papyrus’ arm, hastily erecting a wall of bones that covered the two of them in a wall of armour. The wave of Magic crackled in Sans’ spine, his eye a blazing blue. He felt his Soul kick between his ribs, a fluttering bird remembering all the ways that Chara had made his friends and himself die.

 

It was instinct that spurred him to calling on Frisk’s Soul, forcing it out of their body. The wrenching power of it caused Papyrus to inhale sharply beside him. Sans’ brother crouched in confusion and fear, most of it directed in towards him. He looked up at Sans, looking younger than usual and frightened. Sometimes, it was easy forget who was the older of the two. This was not one of those times. 

“SANS? WHAT’S GOING ON? WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS? IT’S FRISK.”

“Frisk doesn’t glow or levitate,” Sans replied, his voice hard and unyielding. He had to be, or he wouldn’t be able to get to the bottom of this. “I know you don’t get why but I promise if we _live_ through this, I’ll explain why new and suddenly acquired abilities freak me the fuck out.”

 

_They were going to live through this. He was going to make sure of it._

 

He briefly considered summoning his blasters, but he wasn't sure yet if the situation called for it. They took a lot of energy, and Sans knew that fighting an enemy that could load a SAVE file whenever they wished meant that he couldn't afford to waste Magic. He couldn't win, not permanently, but he could make fighting him a chore. The last time, it hadn't stopped Chara, but this time Sans had more to lose. His friends were still alive, his brother was beside him... he could press harder, fight harder. He would have to. 

His eye burned, bright blue. The wall of bones seemed to shiver, quivering under his control. Something churned in Sans' nonexistent stomach, a cold feeling that was not his own. For a moment, he blinked and saw red. 

 

A voice spoke, calling out towards them. It was Frisk, it wasn’t Frisk. Sans couldn’t be sure, because in some timelines Frisk looked like Frisk but was made of _lies_ and _dust._ He grit his teeth against the sound, possible _Not-Frisk_ calling his name. The idea that he might be too late sat in his stomach like a lead ball. He snarled, using his Magic like a tether to sense the world outside and around the wall of bones. He had enough of his sanity together that he knew that it was possible that Gaster was wrong about this, or that he wasn’t too late despite Frisk’s new powers. On the other hand, Chara may not have glowed blue in other timelines, but that didn’t necessarily mean that it wasn’t possible. He had been caught off guard before by minor changes in time.

 

He felt around for Frisk’s soul, and without much thought turned it dark blue. Except… except the _feel_ of it was wrong, something about the way it quivered under his touch. Fear was something Chara had never expressed, not even when Sans had thrown them to the ground again and again. It had been in many ways one of the most terrifying aspects of Chara, the lack of emotions that could be read. Nothing but a joy for killing, a hate for all living things… a desire to hurt and to kill.

Yet Frisk’s Soul… it _trembled_ with fear, practically shouted its terror.

If he could feel it, then Papyrus could doubtlessly feel it too. The younger of the skeleton brothers grabbed Sans’ shoulder, his eyes wide with alarm.

“SANS, _PLEASE._ ”

 

The tone of his voice, sharp and desperate, broke Sans out of his panic. With it, a chill doused over him, making him feel ill.

 _What was he_ **_doing?_ **

Charging into an unknown situation, blasters blazing and ready to take out a friend. Hadn’t he learned anything while Underground? There was the a dizzying moment where Sans blinked, and he did not feel quite in control of his body. The edges of his Soul felt blurred, chalk lines rather than a solid border.

He lowered his wall of bones, still using Magic to hold the kid’s Soul in place.

 

Frisk hovered in the air, caught by Sans’ Magic like a fly in a web. The light blue Magic that encased them was now familiar to the skeleton, leaving the same tang as Papyrus’. Though Frisk could have attacked, they merely hung suspended in place, eerily still. The blue glow of their eyes could not hide the panicked expression on their face as they looked at Sans. That expression, the way they whimpered Papyrus’ name upon seeing him, Sans felt a wave of shame wash over him. The last of his fear melted away into recognition. He had jumped the gun and succeeded in scaring the kid half to death in the process.

 _You’re an idiot. It’s_ **_Frisk_ ** _and you should have known that from the start._

 

He lowered them gently to the ground, his own Magic fading. It was being rapidly replaced with guilt. Frisk was limp, a rag-doll that was breathing at a rapid pace. Their Soul seemed to be fluttering, trying to shudder away from Sans’ hold. Like some kind of prey animal caught in the headlights, they did not dare to move so long as their Soul glowed dark blue.

 

The skeleton was not surprised that Frisk backed away from him when he let go of them, but he still winced. Frisk’s knees would no doubt be scraped, their haste making them lose their footing several times in an attempt to create space. Their fingers dug into the soil beneath them, clawing for purchase.

Apparently, Frisk had been making some leeway in Magic-wielding after all, because as they moved blue energy surrounded them, creating a protective shield. They were crying, although it seemed like it was more of an instinctive reaction. Heaving sobs left Frisk’s lips, though they didn’t scream, did not utter a sound. Instead they curled inwards on themselves, obviously expecting another onslaught in the near future.

The sight of it was heartbreaking.

 

Sans could feel a weight on his chest, holding him in place. His hands clenched and unclenched uselessly at his sides, adrenaline still humming through his system. He didn’t know what to do, torn between giving Frisk their space and making sure they were alright. He was still afraid, despite what his own eyes were telling him. He still felt as though an unseen threat was hiding just around the corner, and it was making him feel like a piano wire, pulled taut.

Where he failed to react, Papyrus seemed to pick up the slack. Sans in that moment was never more glad for his brother’s presence, because he still needed to calm down and Frisk needed _someone._

 

The tall skeleton left Sans’ side, approaching Frisk carefully. Papyrus was rarely graceful, but he could be amazingly gentle, when he made an effort. He could radiate comfort, be a warm and safe presence in his kind words and sturdy countenance. Frisk; despite their fear, seemed to recognise his voice.

“HUMAN, I AM VERY SORRY ON MY BROTHER’S BEHALF. ARE YOU ALRIGHT? YOU AREN’T HURT, ARE YOU?”

 

It hadn’t even occurred to Sans that he might have hurt Frisk in his recklessness. He watched as Frisk slowly seemed to uncurl, the Magic about them fizzling from pale blue to red before dissipating entirely. They looked cautiously up at Papyrus, seeming at once very young as they wiped at the tears that chapped their cheeks with one sweater-cloaked hand.

They signed their answer, still evidently too distressed to manage speaking aloud. Sans recognised his brother’s sign-name, the letter ‘ _P’_ with the same movement as the sign for ‘ _noodles’._ His brother perked up at the greeting, nodding as he inched again closer.

 

_Papyrus? What…_

Frisk’s signs trailed off as they peered over the taller skeleton’s shoulder, giving Sans a bewildered and complicated expression. Sans didn’t speak, but something in his expression must have appeared apologetic. Frisk seemed to bite their lip, somehow reading in the skeleton’s posture that his actions had in many ways been a reaction of panic, and not logic. They turned their body more towards Papyrus, and though the action was completely understandable, a part of Sans’ Soul shivered in remorse.

_I… I think I got it. Blue Magic, I figured it out… you need to wait and let it come to you._

 

They signed this as if it was an a musing statement, as if mastering Magic was suddenly the furthest thought from their mind. Sans knew the dazed expression on Frisk’s face too well, a mask of neutrality. Frisk didn’t react like a lot of other kids their age to stressful situations. Sure, they cried, sometimes if they were really afraid they shook. Yet once it reached a certain level of stress, the kid shut down, masking all emotion as if they were afraid that expressing their unhappiness would bring punishment or worse.

“I NOTICED, HUMAN. I AM SO _SO_ PROUD OF YOU,” Papyrus murmured, seeming to recognise that his small friend was in a state of shock. He glanced back at Sans then, a look of vague urgency in his eyes. He seemed to be trying to tell him something, but everything was static in Sans’ skull. He felt like he was operating on a different frequency. Something whispered in the back of his mind, broken chains of words that made no sense. 

He shook his head, dispelling the white noise.  _Focus._

“HOWEVER, YOU SEEM TO HAVE HAD A RATHER… EXCITABLE DAY. PERHAPS IT WOULD BE GOOD TO CELEBRATE BY RETURNING BACK HOME. I’M SURE TORIEL AND ASGORE ARE BOTH GETTING NERVOUS BY NOW WITH YOUR ABSENCE.”

 

Frisk seemed to look at their knees in consideration of Papyrus’ words, at the blood that shone brightly along their legs and the small cuts along their hands. They flexed their fingers, wincing as pain must have lanced through them.

Papyrus shot another look in Sans’ direction, and this time the message was clear:

_Call someone._

 

Sans grit his teeth, forcing himself to speak. He did not acknowledge the flinch Frisk gave when his voice was overheard.

“I’ll call Toriel, get Undyne to pick us up in her car. I’d warp us back, but-” He spared a look in Frisk’s direction. The kid was beginning to tremble, harsh shudders running along their frame. It was clear that Papyrus was worried, even though he was doing his best, most Papyrus-like impression of calm.

He did not understand why of course, Frisk was reacting in such a shell-shocked way. He didn’t understand at his core what was going _on,_ and Sans was suddenly very much aware that Toriel would have questions as well. He resisted the urge to sigh and cringe at once, picturing the interrogation that would likely occur tonight.

 

There was little else for it, he couldn’t very well run away from the conversation (As that was admittedly his usual tactic for such uncomfortable topics of discussion). Frisk would be left to the metaphorical wolves that way, and he already was finding it difficult to look them directly in the eye now that his panic had receded. As much as he’d rather have all of his teeth pulled without anaesthetic rather than talk about timelines and the past to _anyone,_ he couldn’t do that to Frisk.

 

He pressed a hand to his brow even as he rifled for his phone, calling Tori’s number. The beginnings of a migraine was starting to pulse at his temples, despite the lack of physicality his body possessed.

As the phone began to ring out, Papyrus seemed to determine that Frisk was well enough to carry. He scooped their small frame to his chest, allowing them to curl their arms monkey-like about his neck. Frisk hid their face in Pap’s shoulder, tucked away in a bubble of safety. They did not move from that position, not when the lights of Undyne’s beaten up BMW flashed across the now-dark scenery of the park, and not when Papyrus carried them to the back seat.

 

By the time they made it to Toriel’s home, the kid had fallen into an exhaustive but restless sleep, likely caused by stress and an overuse of Magic. They were muttering under their breath as they slept, not words but vague noises of distress. Frisk’s hands clenched and unclenched themselves in the fabric of Papyrus’ red scarf.

 

Sans was beginning to feel a lot like dog residue.

 

****

Undyne was not very good at hiding her emotions. This was not necessarily a bad thing, but it meant that often she was not the strongest in situations that required a deft hand and a gentle nudge. She was a soldier, a captain of the Royal Guard (now disbanded). She was blunt, brave and more than a little bit rash. More than anything, she was protective of those she cared about. 

Frisk was brought to their room, the door firmly closed and the rest of the grouped Monsters downstairs for a total of five minutes before she exploded.

“Alright, Bonehead! You call all of us out here in some kind of lockdown, _then_ call telling us that you need me to pick you and your brother up because you’ve found Frisk, who’s been _missing_ for several hours. _Explain_ what’s going on or I’m gonna suplex you through the window.”

 

She looked like she meant it, too. Her good eye glinted dangerously, and she was ignoring Alphys’ frantic looks that pleaded for _‘calm’._

 

Sans peered up at her from where he was collapsed on the sofa, tired eyes seeming more deeply lined than usual, his smile forced. He was slouched, a sprawl of limbs that seemed to have only a slight connection to one another. His voice was low, a drawl despite the way sweat was gathering at his temples. Always one to go for a pun, he couldn’t help himself.

“Ouch, pal. Sticks n’ stones may break my _bones,_ but words will scar me forever,” He clutched at his chest for a moment, some of his humour vanishing when not even Toriel laughed. In fact the room was rather devoid of joy of any sort, the carpet pressed down by the pacing of two worried parents, the lamps left to burn long into the evening until Frisk had been brought home. There was a seriousness to the group: no one liked it when their Human was in trouble, Frisk had collected over time quite a fearsome armada of overprotective adults. 

PTA meetings were often chaos, let alone a situation such as  _this._

Sans sighed, and it was a low and tired sound. His shoulders slumped, and he dropped his characteristic grin, the whites of his eyes fading to dark.

“That’s uh, a rather vague question for an even broader topic, I’m afraid.” He darted a look towards his brother, and then to Toriel. Both of them stood in the living room, the seats already filled by Alphys, Asgore, and Undyne.

 

The skeleton and the queen wore matching expressions of concern, though Papyrus’ was perhaps a little more softened when he caught him looking. His brother never liked to think badly of Sans, and the older skeleton was at once grateful for it, and shamed that he could not always live up to such expectations. 

“There’s a lot to explain, and I’m not sure how much is my duty to tell you, and how much is Frisk’s. It’s uh, kinda complicated, and some of it’s… dark.” He clicked his teeth together, a nervous habit as he deliberated with himself. Sans didn’t know when one small secret had turned into an entire web of lies, but he was by far not the only spider hanging out amongst its threads. To tell everyone about Frisk’s involvement with timelines was to ruin an illusion of safety his friends and family had. There were many days Sans wished he could forget the versions of reality that had never happened, wished that he was as blind as the others to the RESETS and the SAVES.

He didn’t want to ruin anyone’s happiness, here above ground. He didn’t want Frisk to feel betrayed. Yet a small part of Sans, the vindictive side, muttered that it was about time someone else knew the extent of the kid’s crimes. He had been the sole keeper of their secrets for a year now, and it had begun to wear him down. 

The two warring options left him feeling greasy and sick with unease. He sighed into his skeletal hands, not knowing where to begin.

 

“Sans... You’re looking a little; well, _pale_ there.” Asgore’s voice hummed, and Sans’ face twisted into a sardonic grin.

“I’m made of bones, Asgore. What do you want from me?”

“A straight answer.” Undyne growled, and the weight fell back on the room, thick and oppressive.

It was a moment before anyone spoke again, and really it was no surprise who broke that silence. Toriel’s voice was quiet, but it held a weight to it. Her dark eyes were large and serious.

 

“Sans, why did you act as if Frisk was a threat today?”

Straightforward, direct hit to the metaphorical Soul, then. Sans could do direct questions, that much he could manage. He straightened minutely.

“I had reason to believe that Frisk was… would not be themselves, if they tried to learn new Magic.”

“Reason to believe?”

“A source. Someone I trusted. They implied as much,” Sans frowned then, thoughts momentarily pulled towards Gaster. He ran skeletal fingers along his jaw in thought. “It’s… he struggled with communication even at his best. I had forgotten… It’s possible I may have extrapolated unintentionally something other than what he meant in his message.”

“Who is your source?”

“A Monster that no longer exists in this world.” Sans breathed, his voice catching and lowering to something dreading. He so _hated_ these timelines, where he was caught out. Where he had to explain.

For this had happened all before, not in this way but surely this situation, and like a dream he could almost guess the words that would play out. It was a rehearsal for a play, and he was the only one to know that there was a script one could read from if they only knew how. How jarring was it, to be oblivious to that structure?

To Sans, it sounded like heaven.  

 

“He’s dead?” Undyne asked, misreading what he meant. Sans shook his head.

“I never said he died. I said he ceased to exist. You’d be surprised how those two states of being can differ,”  He braced his elbows against his sharp knees as he spoke, the words practiced and careful. “Gaster was once someone I knew, a long time ago. He worked as the royal scientist for the Underground. You don’t remember… but that’s because his other side-hobby was researching the effects and possibility of time-travel.”  

 

“I helped him, I was his… his assistant. His friend… I-” Sans’ voice faltered then, and he did not dare to look at anyone else in the room. He made a special point not to look at Papyrus, uncertain as to what his brother’s reaction would be. “-I was his brother. His son. He was... My creator. _Ours._ ” He made an encompassing motion then, casting his gaze in his brother’s direction. Papyrus was stock-still, an animal caught between crosshairs. He looked so terribly confused, and Sans’ ribs felt as if they were being squeezed. “I was there. When he… When _Gaster_ first found out what Humans were capable of. You need to understand… to him, time-travel was an answer to everyone’s problems. The Core, being trapped underground… he kept pushing and _pushing,_ writing out statistics and schematics until he discovered it.”

“Discovered what?” Asgore breathed, and his voice sounded a mix of awed and horrified.

“A blip,” Sans murmured dully. He could still picture it, though it hurt his head to think on false memories. The lab, a sterile room with white walls, filled to the brim with beakers and test tubes and in the centre of it all a dormant machine. “A bubble in time and space, one where someone who should have died came back to life.” He looked up at Asgore then, and Sans’ expression was a mixture of apology, and resignation. “Your children, Asgore. Chara and Asriel. They bent _time_ with their Magic, turned it on its head and twisted it like a fucking pretzel, and my D- _Gaster._ He figured out what they used to do so. But it… it didn’t _work._ Determination… it _melts_ Monsters, and the time machine-”

“My children are _dead,”_ Toriel hissed suddenly, cutting off his methodical recitation.

 

Sans’ looked at her, seeing the fury and betrayal in her shaking hands. The light in his eyes had long been snuffed out, but now he laughed. It was not a happy sound. More of a cackle of exhaustion.

“No,” He said with an inarguable tone of finality. “They’re really not.”

 

****

Frisk woke and found themselves tucked into their bed, familiar sheets warm and comforting. They blinked slowly, for a moment disoriented by the sudden change in scenery. They got the feeling they hadn’t been in their room when they’d last been awake. Yet still, Frisk recognised their small oak dresser, the friendly blue painted walls and space stickers that made up their bedroom. Tucked against them was their habitually slept-with stuffed rabbit, Mr Stubbs. They ran their finger for a moment along the lumpy, torn cotton-tail from which the toy got its affectionate moniker, trying to place their last memory.

 

Muffled fighting from downstairs helped fill in the gaps, slowly coming into clarity the harder Frisk thought upon them. They could hear their mother, who was not often prone to shouting.

She sounded like she was close to it, now.

Sans’ voice caused an involuntary shudder to course through Frisk, the park having been a mildly traumatic experience.

In hindsight, they should have known that the older of the Font siblings would not react kindly to Frisk wielding Magic, especially if he hadn’t been expecting it. They had lifted their hand, originally to greet Papyrus and Sans, but Frisk saw now that it had likely been interpreted as preparation for an attack.

 

They burrowed their way deeper into their blankets, groaning to themselves. Frisk thought that they had truly messed everything up, this time. Their whole family sounded like they were fighting, Undyne’s snarling voice clashing against Sans’ lower, more growling one. Toriel interjected here and there, her tone brittle and angry. Asgore’s lower voice was growing increasingly raised in an attempt to restore order to the situation. There was only a handful of conversations Frisk could imagine all of them having, and most of them involved secrets that they truthfully had wanted to take to their grave. The betrayal from Sans stung a little, but not nearly as much as the weight of the prospect of repercussions. What would their family think of them? Now that they _knew?_ Their stomach began to twist itself into knots, bile rising to the back of their throat.

 

Frisk couldn’t stand to listen any longer, curling in on themselves. It was too much. It was all too much. They clapped their hands over their ears, squeezing their eyes shut tightly, until black spots danced along their vision.

This was all their fault.

They had tried to hide what they had done, ashamed of past actions. For so long, they had kept Asriel’s fate to themselves, feared speaking of Chara to their parents. This was the price they were going to have to pay then, it seemed: Their entire family finding out about their actions in the worst possible way.

 

They did not realise that they were automatically calling out with their Magic, their own emotions now linked more than usual with their Soul. As it was, Frisk nearly jumped out of their skin when a quiet but familiar voice whispered to them, hovering at their ear.

**_“Follow me.”_ **

Marie’s voice drifted through them, and Frisk after a moment uncurled from their blanket nest to peer into the darkness. They found the girl’s flickering shadow hovering by their bedroom door patiently, cool eyes trained on their face. In the moonlight, her form was smudged, like Frisk's brain was merely suggesting the outline of her silhouette, rather than actually seeing it. She was disconcerting to look at directly, and yet commanded that attention.

Meeting Frisk’s gaze, Marie pointed outside, down the hallway.

“Why?” Frisk asked, mostly because they wanted to procrastinate taking up this ghostly presence on their offer. They didn’t want to hear Sans tell their family the terrible things they did. They didn’t want to see the look of betrayal on their faces.

Marie’s head tilted to the side, their cool eyes flickering from pale blue, to grey, to blue again.

 **_“Is that not why you called me?”_ ** They asked, and only when they murmured it aloud did Frisk realise that yes, they had called.

 

They bit their lip, considering. On the one hand, Frisk didn’t want to be anywhere near their fighting family right now, considering the topic they were likely debating. Yet on another, a part of them whispered that they should know what to expect, that they should prepare themselves. They needed to know if they had broken their family’s trust. They needed to know if…

A flicker passed before their eyes, an empty bus stop. The looming shadow of Mt Ebott. Being alone and chapped hands scrambling to find purchase as they fell. Frisk blinked the image away harshly, shrugging off their covers. Their bedroom was cool without their comfort. 

 

Soundlessly they crept forward on bare feet, hardly surprised when a moment later the cool chill of Marie’s Magic hovered over them like a cloak. The girl’s voice sounded in Frisk’s head, a thin and airy whisper.

**_“If any of them look in your direction… don’t move an inch.”_ **

Frisk's Soul glowed blue, the action easier each time they paused, breathed, and waited. 

 

****

Tucked between two slats of the stairway, Frisk watched motionless as their family tore into one another over their mistakes.

 

Sans stood his ground, his jaw clenched in mulish stubbornness as he stared Toriel and Asgore down. They had grown to stand side by side, united for once in their confusion and outrage. Again, the short skeleton stated the impossible, and again, Toriel looked as though she was heartbroken and furious at once.  

“Alphys will tell you, she was able to bring back to life Monsters using ‘Determination’. All Humans have it, but Chara’s... it was _Chara’s_ dominant source of energy. Why is it so hard to believe that they might be able to bring themselves back?”

 _“Chara,_ was not this… this _creature_ you’ve described.” Toriel snapped, her hands clenching at her sides. "Even if we were to believe your words... my child was never  _violent._ Not in this way. They wouldn't  _do_ such a thing." 

“I never said they _were,”_ Sans murmured. His face was twisted into a peculiar mix of dark humour and pain. “But it’s what they’ve _become._ I’ve been trying to explain to you, I don’t think they managed it fully. I don’t _think_ their Soul came back, not really. There’s still _a lot_ of gaps in my knowledge about what’s even going _on._ ”

 

Frisk watched as the skeleton scratched the back of his skull with his fingers, hunched in on himself so that he appeared smaller than usual. His voice was low, gentled as he darted his gaze to the stairs, eyes sliding over Frisk’s form, unseeing.

“The kid would know more about that side of things than I would,” He admitted quietly. “But I don’t know how much they’d be willing to tell you. I know what they've told _me,_ and I'll be the first to admit I didn't ask for more information. I didn't want it. It’s… neither of us enjoy talking about it, even though it’s not fair that we kept it from all of you, we didn’t want to hurt you. The kid… they’ve messed up a lot, but in this I’ll stand by them: No one wants to live with the knowledge that every decision they make could end up being pointless.”

 

“Hurt us?!” Undyne roared then. It seemed she had heard enough. She was on her feet, crowding Sans’ personal space. Her anger was a palpable thing, and it crackled with an electric current that made the hair on the back of Frisk’s neck stand on end. They felt their knees lock in place, curled as they were on the steps. They did not know what would happen if Undyne and Sans started to FIGHT, but their imagination began to create images for them. The idea to Frisk was horrifying. “You keep talking about how you did this for ‘our best interest’ or ‘for our protection’. Did you ever stop to think that maybe, ‘hey, my friends deserve to know that the Human we’ve taken in has killed us all several times before’?! That your ‘Dad’ or whatever he was should be mentioned?! He’s gone fucking with time and you just go ‘oh well, better not tell anyone’? What the _fuck?_ How in the hell are we supposed to trust you if everything that’s ever come out of your boneheaded mouth is a _lie?_ Why should we trust  _Frisk_ if in other timelines they've sooner killed us than get us to the surface?”

Her words struck true, Papyrus flinching as he watched his brother seem to sway a bit on his feet. 

Undyne snarled, jagged teeth glinting in the living-room light. It was clear from Sans’ posture that he was upset by the outburst, but he didn’t cower under her wrath. Instead he straightened, a dull blue glow beginning to emanate from the socket of his left eye. His voice was calm, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t angry. Frisk knew that voice, and it chilled them. He was looking at Undyne, his face a peculiar mix of hurt and sad and exhausted. 

“Let me make this clear to you, Undyne. I’m your _friend._ Or at least, up until now I’ve been operating under that assumption. I _say_ this as someone who tries very hard to tell the truth whenever possible: **_I   w i s h  I could forget timelines._ ** I _wish_ that Frisk hadn’t _killed everyone I care about_ while Chara was in control of them. But the kid upstairs? The one currently asleep? That’s _not_ Chara. That’s _Frisk,_ the Human you know and I _hope_ still love. They like striped sweaters, and their knees get scraped far too often, and they once started crying when their friend M.K tripped and fell down a set of stairs and had to get stitches. They brought us to the surface, and they kept trying, even when they died. Even when it was hard to do so. Chara and Frisk are _not_ the same person.”

He blinked then, seeming to suck in an endless breath before the glow in his eyes faded to black. "Frisk is just a kid, Undyne. I for one thought the days where Monsters killed children were behind us with the Underground, but if you're so bloody  _Determined_ to make it not so..." 

 

Undyne shifted uncomfortably, a greenish tint illuminating their scales. It took Frisk a moment to realise it was a flush of shame. During Sans’ speech, Frisk had been trying very hard _not_ to start crying. They knew any noise would alert the Monsters to their presence, even with Marie’s Magic.

“You’re an idiot,” Undyne muttered without heat, her hands clenched at her sides. She averted her gaze to the floor, to Alphys, who since the argument started had been wringing her hands so hard it looked painful. “Of course I love the kid. We all do. S’why we’re all so afraid.” She laughed then, the sound small and rough. “The kid’s a punk for hiding all of this from us, like we’re not their family? Why didn’t… We should have been trusted!”

She growled then, an inarticulate noise of frustration and rage. Still some of her anger had obviously deflated. 

 

Frisk curled more deeply into their hiding spot, their forehead pressing against their knees. A small, shuddery breath they hadn’t known they had been holding was released. With it, the ball of lead in their stomach loosened. The realised they had been terrified of their family’s reaction, horribly anxious over what they might think of them. Unintentionally, Undyne had managed to work apart that fear with her words, even if it was only a little.

 

It was Papyrus who broke the tense silence. The tall skeleton had been in Frisk’s direct line of sight for a while now, seated as he was at the foot of the stairs. Until that point, he had fallen into uncharacteristic silence, the news of a family member that he had forgotten had existed evidently causing him to draw into himself in shock. His voice was almost a regular volume, practically quiet for Papyrus, and when he seemed filled with worry.

Frisk felt something in their chest stir at the tone, hardly daring to believe that after all had been said, Papyrus was still vouching for them and his brother.

“I KNOW MY BROTHER, EVEN IF HE KEPT SECRETS, HE DOESN’T LIE OUTRIGHT. I KNOW THIS IS… A LOT TO TAKE IN, BUT… I FOR ONE KNOW I HAVE... DREAMS. SOMETIMES. NIGHTMARES THAT ALMOST SEEM LIKE… MEMORIES?” He sounded uncertain.

 

Marie’s voice echoed in Frisk’s mind, like the ripples of a pond.

**_“Even if the mind forgets, the Soul does not.”_ **

 

“WHAT’S MORE, THE MARKINGS THAT APPEARED ON OUR FLOOR WERE NOT IN SANS’ HANDWRITING. THEY WERE VERY CLEARLY SOMEONE ELSE’S. IF WHAT SANS’ SAYS IS TRUE, THEN FRISK IS IN DANGER. ISN’T IT OUR JOB, AS THEIR GUARDIANS AND FRIENDS TO PROTECT THEM? TO HELP?”

A tiny sound did escape Frisk then, something between a whimper and an exhalation. They froze as Papyrus’ skull seem to twitch in their direction, but the skeleton must have thought it to be the wind. He rose to his feet, hands on his hips in his typically heroic pose. “I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AM OF THE OPINION THAT NOTHING HAS REALLY CHANGED. WE ALL AGREE WE STILL LOVE FRISK. WE ALL AGREE THAT WE LOVE MY BROTHER. WE ALL AGREE THAT SANS’ PUNS ARE TERRIBLE, AND THAT FRISK WEARS THAT BLUE SWEATER MORE DAYS IN A ROW THAN IS STRICTLY HYGIENIC.”

 

Frisk thought to themselves through their tears that Papyrus _never_ went without his “battle body” and thus shouldn’t be throwing stones at glass houses, but they held their tongue. The entire room was focused on Papyrus, and by proxy all eyes were almost directly facing Frisk’s hiding spot. One wrong move and it’d be “Game Over”.

“THEY ARE STILL THE PEOPLE WE LOVE. THEY ARE STILL FAMILY, EVEN IF THEY HAVE MADE MISTAKES.”

Toriel was beginning to tear up now, as was Alphys. Asgore’s face had softened into something complicated and vaguely sympathetic.

“I TRUST MY BROTHER, AND I TRUST MY HUMAN FRIEND.” Papyrus finished his speech with a skeletal grin.

 

No matter the timeline, he believed in them. Frisk did not feel like they deserved it, but it never ceased to make their Soul fill with warmth. Hearing Papyrus’ speech, they felt a SAVE load itself in that moment, hidden in the shadow of the stairs.

Marie’s voice, usually so distant, was filled for a moment with quiet wonder.

**_“Oh… that’s...I haven’t felt like that… In such a long time.”_ **

 

Soundlessly, Frisk took the opportunity of everyone being far more focused on themselves than in their direction. They turned, padding up the stairs on noiseless feet.

They didn’t see Papyrus’ kind glance, or the worry that flickered along his normally cheerful features.


	7. No Eggs Were Harmed In The Making Of This Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amount of plot is unreal, also, some new characters!
> 
> Next chapter! and introduction to "Bravery" and some training with the Font siblings and Undyne! also some Alphys! 
> 
> Small warning for this chapter, someone from Frisk's past appears and uses the name they were born with. It's brief and stems from ignorance, and not hate. Other than that, all should be fine ^.^ 
> 
> Enjoy~

 

 

Frisk marched down the stairs the next morning to discover that their family was pretending that the arguments of last night had never occurred. Truthfully, they were in many ways relieved. Their mom was still singing as she made breakfast in the kitchen, their dad was reading a book in the livingroom. Alphys, Undyne, Papyrus and Sans were all curled up in guest bedrooms, still likely asleep. In fact, the only sign that there had been a conflict at all was the fact that there were more Monsters in the house than there usually would be on a school day.

That, and that Frisk was told under no uncertain circumstances were they attending classes today.

“You used a lot of Magic last night, my child,” Toriel explained, shoveling several large pancakes onto their plate. It was then Frisk realised they were ravenously hungry. “I think you can miss one day to recover. What’s more, your father and I are needed at an ambassadorial meeting. Asgore thinks bringing you might… bring out the kinder side of some of the Humans we’ve been dealing with as of late.” She said the last part a little guiltily, as if she thought using Frisk as a buffer against elected officials was distasteful. No matter how many times they told Toriel they didn’t mind, she still seemed hesitant to involve Frisk in Monster-Human politics.

 

Frisk didn’t protest their small vacation, already cramming the sweet breakfast into their mouth. They had already expected this outcome, and they were less distressed over it than they might have been even a few days ago. It was only a day, and besides which they knew that Alphys wanted to run some tests on Frisk’s newfound abilities. They also had questions of their own, and many were the sort they knew the adults in their life would likely hedge around. Frisk wasn’t above snooping, if they thought it was for a good cause. After going with their parents, they’d make an effort to find out some of the secrets being kept from them.

 

“Should I dress up for the meeting?” They asked their mom, conscious of the fact that there could be reporters. It had been a while since Monsters had come to the surface, but the news often got excited whenever Frisk made an appearance on behalf of Humankind. The first half of the year had been a lot of running around on Frisk’s part, trying to prove their mettle, attempting to show the world that they were not just a grubby-looking child (even though they’d admit they had probably looked rather filthy after their adventure in the Underground).

 

Toriel seemed to consider the question a moment, before shaking her head decisively.

“No, dress nicely but do not make too much of an effort. I suspect in this meeting I or your father will be doing most of the talking, and that you might get bored halfway through the meeting. If you need a break, I don’t want you having to be careful of getting nicer clothes dirty.”

Frisk smiled then as Toriel ran a massive paw through their hair, smoothing down the flyaway bedhead they had amassed overnight. They almost expected Marie to appear, the ghostly figure seeming to have an attachment to their mom. However she did not appear, and soon Frisk was finished with their pancakes. Taking their plate to the sink, bounded up the stairs towards their room, mind on getting ready for the day.

 

The closing of their bedroom door made Toriel sigh, the fixed smile on her face slipping away. Nervously, she wrung her paws in the kitchen, her expression melting into something troubled and tired. She braced herself against the counter, eyes slowly slipping shut as she breathed tightly through her teeth.

 

“S’not fun, knowing the truth,”

The voice, usually a presence that Toriel trusted and liked, now only served to needle her irritation. She straightened to see Sans leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen, still dressed in an oversized sleep shirt and dark blue shorts. Everyone had agreed to stay the night, Toriel’s home having plenty of spare beds to use. No one felt quite right about returning to their respective places, not with the chilling knowledge of their own reality turned on its head. Though most were still asleep, Toriel and Frisk were habitual early-risers. It appeared that despite Sans’ general tendencies towards napping whenever possible, so was he.

 

The shirt had the image of a bone on it, font reading out _“I found this humerus”_ in rounded white lettering. Despite the levity of his clothing, Sans himself wasn’t smiling. He was looking at Toriel measuredly, something tired and sympathetic in his expression. “My best advice would be to not think about it. As counterintuitive as it sounds, you’re gonna find it gives you a headache if you try to puzzle it all out. You need to focus on the now, not on what _might_ have happened in another timeline. Frisk is the Frisk you know, right now. Nothing more, nothing less.”

 

“It is not Frisk that my thoughts have been turning to, Sans.” Toriel murmured. Her dark eyes flicked towards the skeleton’s face, a strange mix of guilt, hope and despair etched across her features. It sat on her countenance heavily, very much out of place with Toriel’s normally cheery personality. Sans uneasily recognised the expression, though not on her. Asgore wore it all the time.

Of course, he realised, that would be because they likely both were thinking of the same people they had lost, now so recently revealed to be not quite as gone as they seemed.

“Alphys… she told me some of what happened with her experiments, when we came from the Underground.” This was not a particularly startling revelation- since the liberation of Monsters, Alphys had been doing anything and everything within their power to gain a clean slate. That meant honesty, even if it meant that it strained their relationships with their friends. “I admit that the idea that Asriel… that _either_ of my children could still be out there… I feel as though I’ve abandoned them.”

 

“Chara’s not… I’m sorry, Tori. The kid you loved…” He trailed off, the words feeling flat and useless. It didn’t matter, what reasons or platitudes he gave. Sans knew that in the end, nothing could change the fact that Toriel had unknowingly failed her children, in her eyes. Everyone had.  For a mother, there was nothing more damning.

 

“I know.” Toriel answered, and the worst part is Sans could tell she _did_ know. Sometimes, he forgot just _how many_ children Toriel had grown to love, only to watch them leave her, leave the ruins. Die. There was a ferocity to her expression as she looked at him, her jaw clenched and her shoulders hunched as if expecting a blow. Before he had been even a speck of an idea in Gaster’s mind, Toriel had been losing children.

 

Sans didn’t know what to say, and so he did what he was prone to in such situations. He smiled, the expression false but cheerful, and he offered hope where there wasn’t much to be found.

“Hey, look at it this way; we’re all in this together. This timeline is the longest we’ve been aboveground, and quite frankly, it’s been the most peaceful. Heck, I’m even considering doing something disgustingly active to liven things up. I might take up jogging, can you imagine how horrible that would be? Paps would have a stroke.”

 

Toriel smiled, seeing the olive branch for what it was. She smoothed her paws once more down the length of the dress she was wearing, soft purple and blue.

“You’re completely ridiculous.” She huffed, but her heart wasn’t in it.

Sans merely grinned.

 

****

He found the markings later, etched at the foot of the hall on hardwood floor. Sans had nearly missed them, they were borderline translucent, and could only be seen when the sun streamed through the windows at a certain angle. He tilted his skeletal head as he read Gaster’s words, feeling realisation and irritation course through his bones simultaneously. The sockets of his eyes closed, and he reached up to pinch the bridge of his nub-like nose in frustration.

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me.”

 

**R͓̃̋̾̐͒E̮̤͚̥͖̿̽͋̊Ḍ͙̼̠͈̔͊̎ͤͮͅ ̹̘̻̼̫̠͌̃ͣͩL̮͎I̻̱ͤͨͬͪ̾ͦG̱̝̗͆͋H̙̼ͧ̈̃T̙̪̮̪.**

 

**̻̤̲͑P̙̪̖̫̩͑.͛S̺̪̰̫͍̰̄̿͊̑̀ ̙̈-̹̞ͧͬͮ̎̆Ṡ̀̅̾ͩ̑O͎͉̝͍͛̃͋R̯̯͔̳̩͓̺Rͫ̐͂̌͆ͤẎ͉̺͇̆ͦ̃̓͐̋ ̲̖͔̥̥͍̝̅A̭B̹̭͙̳̻͔̻͂O͇̰̲͙͌͆U̞̲̼̦̹͛́̈́͒̿T͖̯̩͔̱̓ͩ͊̀ ̥̫͕̳̲͈̞ͯ̌B͕̹͈̥̯̰̗̐E͊F͚̝̎̒ͥ̌̔̀͐O̼͍͈̬̹ͅR̙̲͑̋̄ͧ̋E̯͂̉.̪̰͓̏̽̎ ̗̳̬̟̗̱͖͒ͩ̉̈́̓̊̚W̟̝̪̺̗̩̓̾̅R̮͖̈ͨ͛̊̈͗͒O̘͕ͣ̆N̪̯̜̟̠͉̣ͫ̊G̺̘̳̘̹̜͍ ̟̮̭̮̰̄͒͒ͭ̽̾̈́T͕͚̘̾̆ͥ͂I̪͎̯̟M͔̟̥Ḙ̯͒͊̌.̳̣̖̭͎̈́̃͌͊̋͗ ͙͖**

 

“The stress you’re inducing is gonna kill me.” Sans muttered to himself, or perhaps to the air around him. Of course, of _course_ Gaster couldn’t figure out what timelines to leave his warnings in. Typical. For all of the skeleton’s brilliance, time had never been a concept that Gaster had adhered to easily. It appeared that with his falling into the timestream itself, that little quirk had turned into a very real problem for them all.

It was hard to tell if Gaster was listening, if he could see him at all. Just to make sure, Sans saluted his middle finger towards the air. “If you’re just yankin’ my chain on this, I’m gonna be one unhappy camper. I mean it, the unhappiest. A sad camper that’s run out of marshmallows and is caught in a rainstorm.”

 

Scuffing one slippered foot over the hardwood, his Magic glowed blue, dissolving the scratchings from Toriel’s floor. It looked like this would be a literal ‘race against time’.

 

****

Frisk in the end chose to wear a favoured combination- a pair of blue overalls, a green t-shirt and fuzzy blue socks. They slipped and slid along the floor of their bedroom as they got themselves in order, brushing out their hair and shoving various distractions such as a notebook and pens into a plain black knapsack.

That done, they nodded to themselves in satisfaction in the long mirror that stood across from their bed. They thought they looked nice. For a moment, they felt a small well of confidence build up inside of them.

 

Somewhere in the house, they could hear someone getting up. Frisk bit their lip, the good feeling evaporating. From the sounds… they could tell it was Papyrus. Not the worst person to face at the moment, but not entirely the best. Part of Frisk was tempted to wait until the younger of the skeleton brothers went downstairs, but it felt cowardly, too much like running away. Their hands tightened at their sides, and Frisk drew a deep breath, one that filled them it felt, to their toes.

 

They turned towards their bedroom door, bag slung over their shoulder. Out of the corner of their eye, the mirror warped. Something flickered in its surface, a splash of bright orange flame.

Frisk turned, but all that met them was their own face, blinking in slow confusion. Their hands tightened on their bag straps minutely. The feeling of being watched lingered on the back of their neck, yet no matter how many times Frisk tried to catch a glimpse of the figure following them, they saw nothing more than their room, the hall, and oppressive silence.

 

****

Papyrus at a glance, wasn’t someone you’d normally peg as… well… _intelligent._ Not in the way people expected intelligence to manifest, at least. That was always very much his brother, Sans. Since childhood, Papyrus had watched his brother understand concepts and theories that made his head hurt to look at, while he as a child had often struggled with basic multiplication.

 

This was a fact of life that to many people’s surprise, he was aware of: he was not conventionally smart.

That did not mean he was _stupid._

If he were perhaps a harder person, a more bitter one, he might have resented the fact that many Monsters (and Humans for that matter), tended to treat him as such. They called him naive when he wasn’t around, or innocent, or _soft-hearted._ As a kid, many thought he’d make an easy target to pick on, to bully. This never lasted long, in part because even if Papyrus would not fight, his brother had no such issues picking bones with those who would view his brother as a target. The other reason was that Papyrus was painfully, incorrigibly _likeable._ It was hard to pick on someone, when they treated you as if you were a friend from day one of meeting you.

 

As it was, Papyrus could never bring himself to think it a bad thing, to be kind instead of cold. He had many friends because of it! He was even friends with people others seemed to be uneasy towards. Violence in his experience hadn’t solved much, not unless it was on a training ground. Besides which, unlike friendship, violence had a cost that he did not think he’d ever be able to have weighing on his conscience.

 

Still, even his incurable levity towards life had been dealt a blow by Sans’ lying and Frisk’s secrets, though he was doing his best not to make it obvious. His brother was a secretive person, had always been. Papyrus’ earliest memories of Sans were an even mix of playing with his older brother, and watching him leave for a job he could not recall the schematics of. They were hazy, indistinct visions, and they left the skeleton with a headache if he tried to press on them too hard.

He supposed he knew now why that was.

 

His mind refused the idea, even though something deep in his Soul itched, telling him it was the truth. The name **G A S T E R** felt wrong to even think, like it somehow did not belong anywhere, not even trapped in an idea.

 

Papyrus shook his head, freeing himself from the stickiness of the feeling. He looked up, watching his brother as he meandered about the kitchen. Toriel and the others had already left, and so Sans was making a late breakfast for them, Asgore and Undyne. The younger of the skeleton brothers could admit that Sans was rather fantastic at cooking, though one wouldn’t know it with his eating habits. He enjoyed making weird foods though… things like quiche and omelettes and generally they had a lot of eggs in them and had funny french names.

 

Noticing his gaze, Sans smiled up at his brother. His voice was light, attempting to be jovial despite the events of the other night. This was what Papyrus was good at, fuelling his brother’s motivation to be happy. He immediately brightened at the chance to do so.

“Hey bro, you want cheese in your breakfast? It’ll be legen- _dairy._ ”

He grinned when Papyrus groaned in offence.

“HOLD THE CHEESE, YOU’VE GIVEN ME INDIGESTION.”

“Didn’t think you had the guts, sorry; Paps.”

“If we weren’t undead, your puns would kill me.”

 

The two brothers grinned at one another, the tension that had been between them dissipating. This was the thing about the Font siblings, even when fighting they struggled to be truly upset with the other. It was both a blessing and a curse, if only because others had to deal with the inevitable punning.

 

As if on cue, there was a loud groan from upstairs. Undyne thundered down the steps, but to be fair that was the way she tended to go from place to place on a regular basis. Both skeletons turned to look at her unimpressed face, grinning unapologetically under the heat of her glare. The Fish-Monster was still in pyjamas, a pair of sweats and an oversized t-shirt from the Jaws franchise. It being still relatively early, her hair was free from its usual ties, her eyepatch missing. The scars on the left side of her face were silver-white with age.

 

Her good eye was glinting with murderous promise as she stopped at the foot of the steps, he intent for the coffee maker clear.

“For those jokes, the both of ya had better promise some training practice with me today.”

 

Papyrus lit up at the demand, but Sans had the familiar, pained expression on his face of someone who loathed all physical activity. His grin was more of a grimace.

 

“C’mon Undyne,” He all but whined “Have a little mercy, would’ya? These bones are more for rattling than running.”

“NO _complaining!_ ” She growled, attacking the coffee maker and filling the filter with far more grounds than was probably healthy or tasty. “If you’re sayin’ that we might be headed towards some invisible enemy that’s after Frisk, then _all_ of us need to be in top shape!” She smirked, and her jagged smile was vaguely predatory as she looked at the smaller skeleton. Sans began to sweat. “Besides, think of it as revenge; _Bonehead._ I’ve been itching to knock someone around for lying and since Frisk doesn’t fight back, you’re up to the plate.” Some of her confident swagger faded as she rested her hands on her hips. “‘Sides, it’ll bring some normality back to our lives. I haven’t trained with Paps for nearly a month now because of things, and I’m itching for something… familiar to work with.”

 

Sans sighed, resigned to the fact that he probably had this coming for a while. He turned the stove off, saving his breakfast before it  could burn. There was a pun somewhere lurking in the back of his mind about cracking a few eggs to make an omelette. He resisted the urge to make it, the pinpoints of his eyes flicking towards Papyrus. He shrugged, the motion slow and easy despite the beat-down he knew he was likely to receive in the near future.

“Alright then, if throwin’ stuff at me for a few hours will improve your mood, who am I to stop you?”

 

Undyne laughed, and the sound was triumphant and frenzied. Papyrus joined in, cheerful _Nyeh heh heh’s_ echoing through the rafters.

 _“EXCELLENT!_ ” She roared, and wasted no time in plucking Sans up like a small, hoodie-wearing sack of potatoes. Sans decided to go with it, already letting his eyes fall shut in mock-sleep. Perhaps he could get a few ‘Z’s’ in, before Undyne tried to pummel him to the ground.

“SANS, NAPPING WON’T SAVE YOU,” Papyrus crowed, noticing his halfhearted plan. “I AM GOING TO GET MY BATTLE-BODY, AND A GREAT TIME WILL BE HAD BY ALL. ESPECIALLY BY ME, THE GREAT PAPYRUS!” He cackled.

 

Nope, not even a sliver of a chance at all.

  


****

There was a long, somewhat tense car ride in which Frisk sat beside Alphys in the back seat, Toriel driving and Asgore sitting beside her in the front. A beaten-down van bought secondhand for its high ceiling, the affectionately-named “trash mobile” had been the preferred method of transportation for the Dreemurr family for a few months now. Frisk liked its wide seats, the slightly wheezing sound of its engine. They liked to stick their head out of the window when their mother wasn’t looking at them from the rear-view mirror.

They liked a lot of things about car rides, but this was not an enjoyable ride.

 

This was mostly due to the very uneasy passenger seated beside them. Where Toriel was passably decent at pretending she was not concerned with the latest revelations of Frisk’s Magical capabilities, and Asgore was too polite to bring up such ugly topics, Alphys was a poor actress. She had started the morning shooting Frisk nervous looks from behind her glasses, and the nervous hand-wringing habit she had seemed to have doubled in the night. It _hurt_ to see, and Frisk was surprised by just how _much_ it hurt. Worse, Alphys seemed to know exactly where their thoughts were headed. She kept trying to make an effort in conversation, but would lapse into awkward silences that lasted just a tad too long to flow with any kind of ease. She clutched the yellow length of her tail, nervous claws running over it in a self-soothing sort of gesture.

It was in this way that they pulled into the heart of Ebott City, the air between all of them littered with landmines that Frisk had been trying to avoid detonating since they had fallen into the Underground.

 

Toriel pulled the van into the parking lot of city hall, where already a familiar face was standing at its front, waiting for them. Miss Harriet Grey looked not unlike a red pin-cushion in the suit she wore, her tendency towards baubled jewellery and ornate brooches only adding to the image. She had a kind, soft face, and it only became kindlier when she saw Frisk get out of the back seat.

Frisk resigned themselves good-naturedly to the cheek-pinching and the cooing that would likely come, it seemed like Miss Grey couldn’t really help herself. Sure enough as they got within the range of her hands, it began.

 

“Oh; _Frisk,_ it’s so lovely to see you! Your mom didn’t tell me you’d be coming to the meeting!” Frisk smiled up at them, signing a greeting before they were crushed into a hug that left them feeling a little suffocated, but very welcome.

When they were allowed to come up for air, they saw that their mom and dad were watching the scene with varying expressions of amusement.

 

Asgore came forward, shaking Miss Grey’s hand in one massive paw. He towered over the elderly woman, and yet she was definitely the most exuberant of the pair.

“Good to see you as always, Mr Dreemurr, Toriel. I take it that this must be Alphys?” At the mention of her name Alphys squeaked, adjusting her spectacles nervously before offering a small smile. Miss Grey smiled back, blue eyes crinkling in affection. “It looks like we’ll have full table, then. Excellent, I think for this meeting you’ll want as many people who can discuss options as we can. The committee's being run today by Connor.” She said the last bit apologetically, and Asgore and Toriel both winced in sympathy.

 

Frisk knew the name. Connor Bates was for lack of a better word… mulish in personality. He was not an entirely bad man, or particularly unfair, but he had made it clear from the start that his interest in matters was largely self-serving. He also didn’t hold much stock in Frisk’s abilities as an ambassador, mostly due to their age and selective muteness.

 

“Well, it was bound to be his turn at some point,” Toriel aimed for levity, smoothing down the folds of her dress and squaring her shoulders. To the small surprise of everyone, she addressed her ex-husband directly. “Asgore, I think we’re in agreement about how we feel about the topics that will be covered today?”

The king nodded, though he seemed rather flustered by her attention.

“I think so.”

“Good,” She nodded to herself before turning towards Alphys and Frisk. “Alphys, dear, most of what we’re going to be discussing will be to do with enforcing regulations on Magic and incorporating Magic in the workplace side by side with Humans. I asked you to come because I felt you might wish to speak about the more scientific aspect of things.”

 

Alphys looked a little unsure, but she nodded gratefully. Her element was mechanics and science, if she only had to talk about the numerical side of things, it would be fine. Finally, Toriel turned to Frisk, smiling down at her child with a confidence that had been missing that morning. It strengthened Frisk’s confidence, and in spite of themselves they felt a little bit better about the events of the past few days.

“You don’t have to speak if you do not want to, my child. However, if you feel like you have an issue that needs to be addressed with the committee, do not be afraid to say something. Connor is… abrasive, but he is not cruel. He will hear you out if your father and I stand behind you.”

 

Frisk nodded, Determination welling up inside of them. They felt a familiar glow in their body that they had not experienced in a while, a golden SAVEPOINT that only they could reach out and touch. They did, feeling their resolve harden.

They stopped lingering on the past, trying to move forward.

 

****

The Committee for Monster-Human Cooperation (or CMHC for short) was a brainchild of Asgore, Toriel, Miss Grey and the mayor of the town himself, Mr James Bronson. It had been established around three months after the Monsters had arrived on the surface, and was designed as a sort of safe-space where significant members of the community might voice their worries or needs on behalf of whomever they were representing.

On the Monster’s side there was a rotating cycle of participants, nearly always Toriel and Asgore, sometimes Sans, Undyne and surprisingly, Mettaton. On the Human side, there was James, Connor, Harriet and occasionally various representatives of the city. Frisk acted as a liaison between the two, smoothing out cultural misunderstandings (though those were becoming fewer as time went on) and sometimes as a connective piece, a uniting force behind Human and Monsterkind.

It helped that they were a fairly sweet child, and relatively clever and stubborn. They worked hard to make sure that everyone was treated as fairly as possible, and did their best to be a good representative of both sides. It was a big responsibility, but they found they enjoyed the job.

 

Still, the topic on hand had been on the table for a while, mostly due to the fact that it was an issue of extreme contention on both sides: Magic use and whether or not regulations should be placed upon it. Frisk was glad it was Alphys who was seated beside them, and not Undyne. They loved the fish-monster, but her temper would definitely have risen had she been around this discussion.

 

“There has to be some kind of restrictions,” Connor spoke at the head of the collected tables that had been set out for the meeting, gesturing towards a whiteboard that held on it a list of problems he and many others foresaw should Magic be left a blank spot in the law. “If a crime is committed using Magic, there are currently no repercussions in place to ensure that the perpetrator is held responsible for their actions. Already we’ve had small incidences, unintended destruction of property, small fights breaking out. It’s only a matter of time before something like that turns uglier.”

 

He perhaps didn’t mean it to sound the way it did, but Frisk’s eyes narrowed a in silent frustration. Monsters as a whole were not a violent race, and time had only proved that given the rarity of even small “confrontations”. Still, many Humans regarded their new neighbours with a mixture of suspicion and apprehension, particularly whenever Magic was spoken of. It was irritating, and what was more disheartening.

“I propose we enstate a law that states certain kinds of Magic can’t be used. In particular, weaponized Magic and Magic that could cause severe harm to another. Powers like fire, or levitation.”

 

He said the last bit with a sharper tone of voice.

Connor and Sans had… words with one another more than once at these meetings, and it appeared a grudge had been made.

Frisk resisted the urge to smack their hand against their forehead.

 

Asgore’s voice was level, his countenance calm in the face of Connor’s driven speech.

“To deny certain Monsters their Magic is like denying a Human the use of an arm, or a leg. For many Monsters, their abilities are dangerous when mistreated, but benign when used properly. Toriel is a user of Fire-Magic, the ex-captain of my guard can manifest spears. Mostly, they use their skills for baking and training, respectively,” He conveniently left out the fact that Undyne regularly caused damage to property, when she used her abilities. “If a Monster doesn’t use their Magic for too long, then there is an uncomfortable build-up within our Souls. Physically, it makes us ill. I cannot in good faith endorse such aggressive restrictions on my people, not without good cause.”

 

Connor scowled. When he did so, his entire face moved with the expression, all lines and hard eyes and dark hair that had a tendency to look messy no matter how many times he combed his fingers through it in an attempt to establish order. Frisk wondered if his face ever stuck that way. The idea made them have to resist the urge to snicker.

“To not place restrictions is to not uphold your _people_ to the same standards as everyone else. A Human can’t bring a weapon into a grocery store, but as the law stands right now the ex-captain of your guard could summon a spear in _Wal-Mart_ with zero consequences. How are _we_ expected to feel safe if Monsters aren’t held to regulation?”

When he said that a few of the other officials attending the meeting shifted, their eyes looking down and away in silent agreement. There was uneasy muttering.

 

“Guns are creations purely meant to harm, but Magic is not like that.” Toriel denied. “A Monster that can heal can also inversely wound, a Monster that can produce a weapon can normally produce a shield with just as much ease. I do not see how we can put a blanket-ban on certain abilities.”

“P-perhaps a compromise?” Alphys spoke up then, her stutter causing her to redden minutely. With all eyes on her, the lizard-Monster shifted in her seat. It made it squeak, something that only caused Alphys further embarrassment. Conner looked unimpressed when she mumbled something apologetic under her breath, cowing and falling silent.

 

Frisk signed in Alphys’ place, trusting their parents to translate for them.

_Maybe we could say any Magic that’s used with the intent to harm or kill? Monsters can sense the intent behind spells, so it could be tracked._

Toriel spoke Frisk’s words aloud for the benefit of the group, Miss Grey nodding approvingly and Mr Bronson looking thoughtful. However, Connor looked irritated at the suggestion, a barb in his voice as he refuted their proposal.

“Too vague. There’s too many loop-holes to the proposal. If only Monsters can sense Intent, then what’s to stop a Monster from lying about the Magic that was used? It’s a nice thought, to think everyone is honest, but it’s too idealistic.”

 

He said the last part in a way that Frisk read between the lines, flushing darkly.

_Too childish._

They shrunk into their seat, feeling small and stupid all of a sudden. They hadn’t thought of that. They _wouldn’t_ have ever thought of such an issue.

 

“Maybe with some tweaking, then?” Miss Grey swooped to their rescue then, likely seeing their loss of confidence. She offered Connor an appeasing smile, gentling his annoyance. “This is a topic that is very sensitive, for Monsters and Humans alike. Safety measures cannot be ignored, but we need to go about this smartly. We can’t just rush into things.”

“We’ve been throwing this topic around for four months now, Harriet,” Connor stated dryly “Any more slowly and we’d be at a standstill.”

“Still,” Miss Grey insisted, and Connor sighed when Bronson nodded in agreement.

“You’re not taking this seriously,” He warned, but he didn’t press the issue. He drew his files to his chest, shuffling papers in restless movement.

 

The topic was dropped for the moment, to everyone’s silent relief.

Frisk bit their lip, feeling Connor’s gaze on them for the rest of the meeting. It was a calculating expression, something that felt an awful lot like accusal. They wondered how Connor would felt, knowing that Monsters weren’t the only ones capable of Magic. Something told them that he was the sort of person they didn’t want finding out about their growing abilities.

 

Out of the corner of their eye, Frisk thought they saw something flicker. A figure, fists raised as if to fight. As inconspicuously as possible, they turned their gaze in the image’s direction.

Nothing, only the back of the room greeted them.

They only just managed to control their jump when they looked away, towards the entrance of the room.

 

A boy in tattered shorts and a striped tank-top stood. He was flat, one-dimensional and flimsy in a way that instantly alerted Frisk to his lack of true existence. The stripes of his shirt were faded, his body cast no shadow. The colour of his eyes were dull and flat, dead as they watched him.

He wasn’t looking at them however, their gaze trained instead on something unseen in the distance. The boy raised hands in the air, pink gloves a bright speck of colour as they made twin fists. They mock-struck in the direction of Connor, their face screwed up in comical amusement.

They laughed then, soundless but the expression unmistakable. Frisk could almost imagine the sound, bright and carefree and a little bit wild.

Between one blink and the next, the boy was gone. It took Frisk a second to realise that he had vanished, the echo of his shape lingering on the back of their eyelids.

 

As subtly as possible, they signed to Toriel that they needed to use the restroom.

 

****

 

Smoke drifted from the burning end of a cigarette, glowing in the afternoon sun. The young man who cupped it flicked ash onto the pavement, watching it spit for a moment before it cooled. He took another mouthful, his lungs squeezing in a familiar sensation, equal parts tension and relief. Head tilted back to look up at the sky, he noted that it looked like it was going to rain. Everything today seemed washed out, a watercolour painting left drained of any permanence or reality.

 

He liked these kinds of days, admittedly. Perhaps that was a strange thing to enjoy, but he enjoyed the sensation of being vivid compared to his background, and vivid he was. Martin’s highlighter-green shirt and bile-yellow shorts were a horrendous combination, the result of being a summer camp counsellor when he wasn’t on break. The material was design to be reflective, stain-resistant, and as a result was garish and ugly and likely cheaply made. Coupled with hair dyed white-blonde and dark brown roots, people looking at him would likely be inclined to think of peacocks, or perhaps some kind of exotic plant. The children he worked with liked to tell him he resembled a cactus, green and chaotic but ultimately charming. It was years of being used to children that made Martin think of it as a compliment.

 

For a change, no one was staring at him. No, most Human eyes were rather drawn to the strange family walking through the streets just a street ahead, for where he was odd in appearance, they were odd in _existence._ They came out of city hall, moving as a singular unit. Yet the only ones that bore any resemblance to one another were the two goat-Monsters, strange in themselves just by existence. The smaller of the two (though they were both taller than a full grown man would ever be) held the hand of a young child, Human at least in appearance.

 

The child, though rather unremarkable by themselves, was made remarkable by the company they kept. They seemed to be chatting (signing? Martin thought it was sign language, it had been a while since he’d needed it…) with a large, reptilian Monster. All three of the Monsters were modern clothing, to top it all off. The largest, goat-like and somewhat regal-looking (? Martin thought maybe it was the horns) was wearing a bright pink shirt that put Martin’s acid-green top to shame in its tackiness. The other goat-Monster wore a purple sundress. The lizard, well it seemed to be wearing some kind of anime-themed top and a jean jacket.

His gaze once again drifted to the Human kid. They looked happy, laughing and talking to the Monsters. There was a pang of familiarity in that smile, something Martin chose to ignore, as he did with any other kids he looked after at the camp.

 

The world was so strange, somedays. Strange, and kind of fantastic.

Martin smiled to himself, taking one last inhale of his cigarette before stubbing it out. No need to stare, though people would even if he didn’t. It was nice, seeing a bit of domesticity. Mostly, Monsters kept to the outskirts of the city, only venturing in when they had to. It was a culmination of various factors, but part of it was admittedly Ebott was struggling to be welcoming to newcomers. The best thing to do in this sort of situation would be to pretend the Monsters weren’t there, and go on his way. Treat them like normal.

 

He made to turn away, his break already coming to an end. Something flickered in the corner of his eye, a shadow. It was the suggestion of _nothing,_ and so it stuck in Martin’s mind, catching his attention in a world of sound and noise and city traffic. The _nothing,_ well… he stared at it, mouth falling open as it seemed to yawn before him. A voice spoke from it, garbled and frenzied. It rang in his head, a caterwaul that made him want to close his eyes, clap his hands over his ears.

 

It was gibberish, the sound of gears and static all collecting together in the suggestion of a voice. With it, images and colours whorled in the back of his mind, shuddering like the flicker of a lighter. It sent familiarity coursing through him, rememberance.

His head felt like it was splitting in two, but the pain leant to him the sharp edge of someone waking from a dream.

 

Martin whirled, because suddenly that smile was a touch _too_ familiar, the child’s dark hair a bit _too_ messy like…He was seeing things, he had to be.

“Fay.” He whispered the name, voice gone hoarse. I slipped past his lips like a curse, like a promise. Martin found himself shouting the name across the street, the roar of traffic loud but not so loud that his voice didn’t feel as though it were echoing. _“Fay?!”_

 

The child seemed to freeze, so suddenly that the Monsters around them had to back up in concern. Martin saw dark eyes find him, recognise him in a vague way. They seemed to have stopped breathing.

_-Jesus Fucking-_

It was all the confirmation he needed. Unthinkingly he bolted, tearing down the sidewalk and across the street. He didn’t even look up at the lights, not realising that they had turned red.

 

He didn’t see the car.

 

****

Gaster scrambled for purchase in this version of reality, his many hands trying to pull the Human back from the edge. His fingers tangled in themselves, tripping over one another in their haste. There was a pulsing in his body, something dangerously close to shattering.

Mangled images filled his head, multiple timelines shuffling in and out of existence. His form wasn’t real enough, his fingers slipped through the man’s arm like he was nothing more than a shade.

 _\- Stupid, stupid, he had warned the wrong person, gotten confused_ **_again_ ** _-_

 

A piteous sound left his throat, high gears and the whine of a car engine falling to disrepair and ruin. He couldn’t stop it, and he knew where this timeline was about to go if he couldn’t halt the oncoming tragedy.

It was already happening before his eyes.

 

Gaster trembled, melting away before this timeline disintegrated and rearranged. He couldn’t be here, when that happened. The Anomaly waited in that VOID between time and space, between life and death.

He disappeared, a pale face that was more of a suggestion of a man than anything else. **HE** **_CoULDn’t SuSTAiN ThIS fORM._ **

Around him, the space broke, shuddered, before bending back into place, elastic.

  


****

Frisk did it unthinkingly, a hard and yanking tug in their chest happening at the sight of a car connecting with that familiar figure.

 

**_R_ **

**_E_ **

**_S_ **

**_E_ **

**_T_ **

  


_Sans was going to be furious._


	8. Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay this chapter finally got tapped out~~~ 
> 
> Meet Bravery, I hope you like him ^_^
> 
> Also, Grillby!

 

 

Frisk had died many times before, had lived many lives in which they were a good person, a bad person, and everything in between. Yet the sensation of being caught between life and death was something that they could never get used to, a feeling of being at once two-dimensional and infinite. They peered into the darkness of it, floating in a sea of nothing as they tried to catch their breath. 

They inhaled, and the sound seemed to stretch before and behind them, pulling and twisting like threads in a loom. 

 

They weren’t alone, and Frisk looked beside them curiously, Marie’s presence a surprise but not unwelcome. She floated beside them, somehow brighter than she appeared when projecting into reality. Her body more solid, she looked down at Frisk, her voice still airy and disconnected. 

_ “So this is where a Determined Soul goes to die. To a place older than time.”  _ She murmured, and something about the way she said it caused the darkness to shudder around them, reverberating with her voice.

 

Frisk shivered. This place was never cold, but they could still feel inside of it. Fear tickled along the back of their neck, the weight of what they had just done hitting them solidly in the chest. Oh, God. They had RESET to their last SAVE point. It was something they hadn’t done in over a year now, and the thought of how Sans was going to react to it made them want to tremble where they stood. They had been doing so well, ignoring that itch in the back of their minds that demanded they tap into that ability… Yet here in the darkness the weight of their mistakes sat on their shoulders. That fear opened up the floodgates of what their other friend’s reactions would be- because knowing Sans, he’d no longer be willing to keep these kinds of situations a secret. 

 

They crouched in the darkness then, wanting nothing more than to become one with this infinite blackness. It might be a kinder fate, to be honest. They had messed up, and had done so in such a way that there was very little chance of defending themselves. 

After all, what was one strange Human to their Monster family? They couldn’t explain to them a ghost from their past, not without explaining the past in the first place. Martin’s face had been something out of their dreams and nightmares, older but still recognisable. His voice when he’d said their old name had made Frisk freeze, awash with memories. 

They had never thought they would see him again. A tight knot was forming in the back of their throat, their hands clenching and unclenching in the fabric of their sweater. He would remember, too. 

He always did. 

 

Marie looked down at Frisk, seeming at once both unimpressed and curious. 

**_“Why are you sitting there?”_ **

“Because I did something very stupid and regret my life choices,” Frisk mumbled into their sweater, so that the words were mildly unintelligible. They then realised that Marie had spoken to them, and looked up at them in question. “I thought you said you could only talk to me when near water.”

Marie didn’t seem particularly satisfied with their answer, and she shrugged thin shoulders. 

**_“In reality, that is the case. This place is not reality, it is a place between two worlds, life and death. It is where we linger, and so it is easier to talk.”_ **

“You’re here, then? When you’re not with me, I mean.”

**_“In a way,”_ ** She replied, unintentionally evasive.   **_“As much as I ever am. We linger here, when other things don’t.”_ **

“Other things?” Frisk asked, a small chill running down their spine at the vague threat in their words. Marie blinked, looking at them carefully before replying.

**_“We call it “Soul-Snatcher”, but you would know them by something else. You borrowed their abilities, once, and so they hear what you hear. ”_ **

 

_ Then it is agreed. You will give me your _ **_S o u l._ **

 

The thought trickled into Frisk’s mind, and they shuddered hard, away from it. Fear tightened in their chest, and they suddenly knew that all they wanted was to be back with their family, out of this dark void. 

“They’re not a part of me, not a part of this timeline.” Frisk whispered, but the words felt flat and dull on their tongue. Instead of agreeing or disagreeing, Marie merely hummed. The tone wasn’t melodious, rather it sounded fractured. It was a glitched noise, shivering over bone and skin, a mockery of something living. 

**_“Perhaps.”_ **

 

She pointed then, into the darkness. Her voice was level. 

**_“If you don’t get up, you’re going to get trampled.”_ ** She didn’t sound particularly bothered by the notion, merely factual. Frisk frowned, peering about the darkness. Normally, nothing and no one came for them in this place. They had to wander out themselves, pull on the red thread of their Determination and bring themselves back to life. 

“By what?” 

Marie looked somewhere off into the distance, her grey eyes soft.

**_“To find me, you had to wait for me to come to you,”_ **

 

Frisk opened their mouth to ask what they meant, but never got a chance. A humming suddenly filled the air, the sound brassy and low in their ears. Before their eyes, something flickered brightly, a spark of candlelight in the dark. Like Papyrus’ Soul it shimmered, looking like the embers of a campfire. A bright orange heart, thrumming with vibrancy before them. Frisk’s lips parted in surprise, but they had little time to register the Soul before them. It flickered, and with a shuddering transformation it morphed into a silhouette of a person. As Marie spoke, it became someone recognisable. It was the boy that Frisk had seen before in the meeting, the one that had made faces at Connor. This close, it was clear that he was Chinese, and also almost as short as Frisk. Dark brown eyes glinted with mischief, and his smile was wide, crooked and restless. His clothes were tattered, from the striped tank-top to his basketball shorts and frayed pink boxing gloves. All except his shoes. New but obviously broken in, they were the most expensive thing in the boy’s wardrobe. 

 

Patience was a whisper behind Frisk.

**_“To find Bravery, you must catch it, and never let it go. You must grab his memories, and make them yours.”_ **

The boy turned, and before Frisk could call out to them, he started to run. As he did, Marie vanished, a snuffed out candle, leaving Frisk in the darkness. In the black left behind, something roiled and twisted, heaving in on itself. Swallowing, Frisk reached blindly for the light of orange, their feet unthinkingly pushing themselves forward. 

 

They found themselves tossed into a memory that was not their own, the darkness left behind and unable to follow. The jarring sensation of losing themselves came with it, and Frisk opened their eyes to find themselves looking out from a stranger’s face. 

 

****

_ You still felt bad about leaving Toriel behind, but really, what could you have done? The idea of spending the rest of your life in the ruins was a “Safe” future, but a boring one. You had come to Ebott for adventure, and found it in a world of Monsters. Why shouldn’t you explore? At least, you told yourself this to get rid of the nagging feeling in your chest, the one that Toriel had drawn out by giving you the same kind of look your own mother had when she was sad.  _

 

_ You wondered briefly if you would ever see your real mom again. Trying not to think about it, you pushed on.  _

 

_ Past the ruins it was cold, colder than it had been on the other side of the door. Your breath made white clouds in front of you, and you shivered and shuddered in the thin gym clothes you wore. You didn’t know how it could snow under a mountain, but the white drifts enchanted you. Dad had always said snow was beautiful, but you hadn’t seen it or believed him really until now. There had been none first in Shanghai, and then even less of a chance of it in Taiwan. America was the first place that had promised a white winter, and you had been excited to see it. You thought it lucky that you could find it down here of all places, and you stuck your tongue out to catch silvered flakes as they fell from above. Bolstered by the chill, you began to run. You wanted to see everything, explore! Toriel had been nice, but you craved interaction, things of interest. She had warned you it would be dangerous out here, but how could she think that? A place this beautiful, this Magical…  _

_ It was a wonderland, far away from sweaty hours working with your dad on train tracks. A fairy tale.  _

 

_ You always felt most at home when you were out of breath.  _

_ Running came naturally to you, a fierce joy emerging from the simple act that caused a grin to crawl across your face. There was something infinitely gratifying about the act, the pumping of blood to your cheeks, into your limbs. When you were young you were told you were small, too weak to lift things or to be of any use to your older brothers or your dad when it came to work.  _

 

_ You trained until you were fast (Even if you couldn’t quite manage being strong). Boxing, running, endless rounds of pushups and situps, until sweat coated your back and your legs felt like jelly.  _

_ You dreamed in the quietest of nighttime hours of one day being strong enough that you could work enough hours to be helpful.  _

_ You needed to get home, so you could be helpful.  _

_ Your mom would worry.  _

 

_ The thought was shook from your head as you came to frosted windows and wooden shacks that glowed in the darkness cheerily (a voice whispered in Frisk’s mind,  _ **_Snowdin_ ** _ ). The sight was a beacon, you were shivering so hard now that goosebumps had begun to form along your bare arms and legs. Stumbling blindly forward, you nearly ran into the sign, stating the name of the town. You read it twice, still marvelling at the fact that this place seemed to understand, speak and write Chinese. Magic, you thought. It had to be Magic, that made it that way.  _

 

_ Shivering and trembling, you could just make out a warmth like a beacon in the midst of this blizzard, humming in the distance. It took you a moment to make out the words on the sign, glowing through the snowfall like a flame:  _ **_Grillby’s._ **

_ The warmth of it, its safety, drew you in.  _

 

_ Inside, you found polished wood floors and tall chairs, housing a few stray Monsters that still caught your eye as something new and strange. You tried not to stare, instead allowing the warmth to suffuse into your bones. Closing your eyes, you sighed in relief as the snow crusting the shoulders of your shirt began to melt. You could feel eyes on you, gazing at you cautiously. A voice spoke, clearly interested in you. _

_ “Yer a funny lookin’ Monster! Howdy, newcomer!” A bunny-like Monster spoke from a red, plush booth, obviously having had a few drinks already to loosen their manners. They smiled though, friendly enough, and it made you relax instinctively. You grinned wide at the thought that they thought you were a Monster.  _

 

_ “Bon, that’s enough.” A soft voice admonished, sounding strangely like cinders crackling over a log fire. Your head turned, and you started as you saw the Monster that was polishing a glass behind the gleaming bar. His glasses were tilted towards his work, yet it was clear that the rabbit Monster had heard him. She seemed to sigh, hiccuping before apologizing to you. _

_ “Aw, Sorry Cap’n. Jus’ excitin’ to see someone new in Snowdin. Yet just a kid, aren’t’cha? I can tell, yer wearing a striped shirt.” You were, and you wondered at the significance even as you shook your head. _

_ “No, it’s fine, really.” You lifted your hands in appeasement, catching the bartender’s eye as he lifted his head. He had started a sentence, but it trailed off as his bright yellow eyes landed upon you. _

_ “Bon, for the last time. The War is over, I’m no longer a cap-” The living flame seemed to stare, his voice cutting off.  _

 

_ You looked at him, unsure of the reason behind his actions. The Monsters grip on the glass slackened, until it rested upon the counter of the bar. He seemed to regard you like you were a strange plant that had just grown up from the ground in the middle of his establishment. You felt something crawl along your skin, for a moment feeling the first inklings of nerves. You had the distinct impression that this Monster knew you for what you were.  _

_ The consideration of running away briefly flitted across your mind. You clenched your jaw against it, having been run out of a restaurant with your family one too many times to make the action sit comfortably with you. Despite your fear, you lifted your jaw, dark gaze meeting the flames’. The two of you were locked in a stare-off, the Monster seeming unable to look away, you unwilling to.  _

 

_ It was then your stomach chose the inopportune moment to growl. Loudly. It seemed to echo in the small bar, and the tips of your ears began to flush in mortification. The noise seemed to snap the flame out of his daze, and he blinked slowly even as he shook his head. Wordlessly, he seemed to collect himself, asking as if in quiet contemplation. _

_ “You… really are a child, aren’t you?” _

_ When you nodded, it seemed to firm something in the flame’s posture. His shoulders straightened, and his chin jerked to the stool in front of him. His voice still soft, he asked you a question.  _

_ “Do you like burgers? Or fries?” _

 

_ The flame’s name was Grillby, as it turned out. You found that oddly appropriate. The food he offered was greasy, and delicious, and carried with it that odd spark that you were beginning to associate with Magic. You scarfed it, barely pausing long enough to chew. Ordinarily, you’d be ashamed of your manners. Now you didn’t much care.  _

 

_ Grillby watched as you ate with a bemused expression somehow on his rather expressionless face, leaning against the countertop. His stare was rather unnerving, so you felt the need to tell him that his food was “really good”. The compliment made a small, crackling smile scrawl over his face, before it faded into something cautious, and oddly sad. _

_ “You’ve come a long way, haven’t you? What are you doing in a place like this, when you live on the surface?”  _

_ “Got lost,” You answered truthfully enough from around a mouthful of food “‘N then I fell. Hurt myself pretty bad, but th’ kind goat lady helped me.”  _

_ Grillby hummed softly, his flame flickering in thought. He stroked one hand along his chin.  _

_ “She would, wouldn’t she.” He seemed to murmur to himself.  _

_ “Toriel’s really nice.” You agreed, happily munching on some fries. They were crispy, with just the right amount of salt. You all but groaned in happiness.  _

_ “She has more reason to be nice to your kind than most, and yet also more reason to be cruel.”  _

_ “Mom says everyone should try to be nice to others, even if it’s hard.” You said matter-of-factly. “She says just ‘cause someone reminds you of someone else, doesn’t mean they’re like them.”  _

_ “Your mother sounds like a kind person.”  _

_ “She is!” You beamed up at Grillby, smile wide “She’s nice, and smells nice, and loves everyone! That’s why I’m trying to get home, she’ll miss me! Do you have any children, Mr Grillby?”  _

 

_ Grillby’s flame lowered then, the pale yellow darkening to something more somber, closer to amber-red.  _

_ “I did, at one point. Now, it is just my niece.” You felt a pang of sadness at his words, and without thinking you reached out to pat his hand, gently. He didn’t burn, not like you feared he might. Instead, his flames were warm, the temperature of a bath. Grillby seemed startled by your touch, but he did not pull away.  _

 

_ He adjusted his glasses uncomfortably instead, looking out towards his bar. Most of the customers had left, what the Underground called “night” setting in. It was just him and you, now. He felt guilt crawl up into the back of his throat, something tightening in his chest. You ate on, oblivious to his internal conflict.  _

 

_ “Still, it’s… Not safe for you, small one. You don’t know the danger of being here.”  He whispered, trying to impress upon you the seriousness of your presence here.  _

_ “Danger?” You asked, because so far most of the Monsters had seemed quite nice. They had fed you for no money, did their best to care for you, and as a whole treated you kindly. Grillby crackled uneasily, the tips of his flame going blue for a moment. He cast an uneasy gaze towards the window, knowing who came with the darkness, after their patrols.  _

_ “You should go home to Toriel, small one. You are safer in the ruins.”  _

_ “I can’t do that! I have to get home!” You retorted, looking at the flame in outrage. You smacked your hands down on the countertop. “Besides, I’m ten! I can handle anything that happens.”  _

 

_ Grillby didn’t seem reassured, if anything his flame had tinged a faint green. His voice had grown almost subsonic, a desperate note entering his voice as he pleaded.  _

_ “Snowdin’s not that bad, at least? You could stay in this village, most people here are too young to remember. They won’t know to tell-” He cut off then, a small shudder running through his shoulders. He seemed in that moment afraid, almost ill. You looked at him curiously, a hand running through your untamed and spiky hair.  _

_ “Tell what?” _

_ “That you’re… You’re Human.” The flame spoke the word in a hush, as if he were afraid the word were dirty, or poisoned. He cast a look once more towards the window, where the snow was beginning to once again fall. “Please,” Grillby suddenly begged “You need to run, and you need to hide. I can keep them distracted, small one. But this is… This is not right.”  _

 

_ “What’s not right?” You asked, but the flame was already moving, urging you towards the door. You tried to dig your heels in, tried to get him to wait, but he was strong. Much stronger than you expected. Grillby all but shoved you back into the snow, pausing only to grab a long, black coat.  _

_ “I won’t need it, I’m staying inside.” He explained, pausing only to drape it about you. He gripped your shoulders then, seeming to search your face. “To the east is Hotland… if you truly don’t want to go back to the ruins… to Toriel… go there. The Riverperson will take you, they’ve never been one to take sides.”  _

_ You gripped the edges of the coat, drawing it about your shoulders. The cold was to your back, but the inside of the coat was woollen and soft. You buried your face into the texture, revelling in it. Peering up at Grillby, you reached up at his taller height.  _

_ “You can’t come with me?” _

 

_ The flame shook his head wordlessly, his expression longing despite his stillness.  _

_ “You must be brave. Can you be brave?” You nodded, feeling the quivering in your chest harden at his question. Your back straightened, and slowly you nodded. The flame seemed pleased with the response. His flame crackled yellow-bright.  _

_ “Good. What’s your name, small one?” (and Frisk felt the memory begin to tear apart with the whispered name, filling them with Magic and Memory and Determination-) _

 

_ “Fu. My name. It’s Fu.”  _

_ Grillby smiled.  _

_ “Fu,” He said, turning you out towards the snow. His voice was a hiss, like steam in the cold air. “If anyone sees you, I need you to run. Run as fast as you can, and don’t stop.”  _

_ You frowned, glaring up at the flame. _

_ “That’s mean. And what’s more, that’s not even brave!” Grillby’s grip only tightened, his expression grim as he bent so that you two were on eye-level. _

_ “Sometimes the bravest thing you can do in a fight; Fu, is to run. Remember that, please.”  _

 

_ Then the memory began to crumble, and Frisk woke up just in time to catch the imprint of Fu trotting out into the snow, the edges of Grillby’s coat creating a trail that was soon covered by falling flakes of white.  _

  
  


_ **** _

Frisk was dragged from the memory by the timeline resetting, their grip on the dream ripped from their fingers. They felt a chill run through them as breath was forced back into their lungs, as their Soul was called back to their own time. They caught a flicker of Fu’s face, still smiling and bright, and of Marie’s impassive expression. Too soon though, they were fading away, drowned out by the rush of Frisk’s own heartbeat. They watched, unable to do anything but go with the motion of it. 

 

Everything disintegrated, and Frisk’s only thought was of Grillby, and how they needed to talk to them. 

Martin, and all he came with, was temporarily forgotten.

 

****

“ You don’t have to speak if you do not want to, my child. However, if you feel like you have an issue that needs to be addressed with the committee, do not be afraid to say something. Connor is… abrasive, but he is not cruel. He will hear you out if your father and I stand behind you.”

 

Frisk blinked, momentarily thrown by the sudden solidity of the world around them. A feeling of intense vertigo, followed by vague yet familiar nausea was bitten back. They swayed where they stood, looking up confusedly at their mother. Toriel was standing before them at the edge of the parking lot, seeming confused by their sudden stop.

“Frisk?” She asked, seeming to see that her child wasn’t entirely with it. Frisk blinked past the confusion, their heart still pounding from the adrenaline coursing through them. 

 

“Mom,” They replied, dark eyes snapping to Toriel’s face. Frisk was moving before they were thinking, grabbing Toriel’s massive paw with one hand. With the other, she grabbed her father’s. “Dad. We need to go to Grillby’s.” 

Asgore looked down at frisk, his heavy brow lined in confusion. 

“Frisk, we are just about to attend a meeting-”

“Dad, there’s no  _ time- _ ” Frisk began to pull, dragging their parents back towards the car. At the last minute, they whipped their head in Alphys’ direction. 

“Alphys! Alphys  _ please!  _ We need to  _ go!”  _

  
The lizard-Monster wrung her hands. Something nervous was in her expression. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something similar like this had all happened before. 


End file.
